Somewhere The Birds Are Singing


He managed to open the shutters a little way

but the gap was smaller than he expected.

He eased his head and shoulders inside.

The rest of him, his arse and legs

remained outside covered in a blanket

Then, as dawn broke, covered once more

by a blanket of early spring snow.


Somewhere the birds are singing, he thought.

Somewhere else the birds are singing.



file:///Users/davidmarks/Downloads/the-fringe-poetry-magazine-2024.pdf


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