By: Simon Fuller
Not since my great great something left the village,
wherever that was,
Have we seen a spring like this.
Our walk to work takes in the wood,
I saw a flash, a dart and day by day tracked it back
to the secret of its nest.
An old tree. A hole filled with noise, getting louder.
We stood and watched them in and out.
We proudly showed passers-by
Discussing it like we made them ourselves.
“Woodpeckers.” we’d say to nods and smiles.
And one day, miracle, we were there to witness one little bird leave
Followed by its brothers and sisters
The nest grew quiet
And the wood filled.
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