Welcome to my Poetry: Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

Cuckoo-less skies over Leebotwood

Years ago hearing the cuckoo was a sure sign of spring. Together with seeing the first swallow it was a ‘feather in a country person’s flat cap’ to be the first to hear the iconic bird’s distinctive call. The swallows still honour us with their twittering presence, but I haven’t heard a cuckoo for years. Years ago, one very vociferous bird sat on the telephone wires just outside my bedroom window at 4 a.m. and proceeded to be an early alarm call. Oh, to hear him now!

 

The Cuckoo Came in April

‘Come and listen!’

Dad called to me when I was small.

I cupped my ear to the distance

To hear the first cuckoo’s call.

‘Watch for swallows!’

Dad said, ‘They’ll be here any day!’

Sleek stonemasons skimming

Over puddles of clay.

Cuckoo! His called echoed

On the cool April air.

Egotistical birds

Put their chicks ‘into care’.

We wandered the fields,

Walked the flower frilled lanes,

Soaked up sunbursts of dandelions,

Fashioned bold daisy chains.

I stopped in mid-skip,

Caught his magical sound

From his perch way up high

Atop budding green gowns.

But where has he gone,

That harbinger of spring?

He’s now seldom heard

Or seen on the wing.

The swallows stay constant

As does the shy celandine,

 But in spite of their efforts

 It’s for the cuckoo I pine.

He brought memories of childhood,

Times which made my heart glad,

And of many hours learning

Country skills from my dad.

Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet xx