Silver Lining by Carol Ann Duffy

Five miles up the hush and shush of ash,

Yet the sky is as clean as a white slate -

I could write my childhood there.

Selfish to sit in this garden, listening to the past

(A gentleman bee wooing its flower, a lawnmower)

When the grounded planes mean ruined plans,

Holidays on hold, sore absences at weddings, funerals ... wingless commerce.

But Britain's birds sing in this spring

From Inverness to Liverpool, from Crieff to Cardiff,

Oxford, Londontown, Land's End to John O' Groats.

The music's silent summons,

That Shakespeare heard and Edward Thomas and, briefly, us.



I heard this on Radio 4 a couple of days ago and really enjoyed it. (A degree of novelty is involved - not to be teaching a poem.) I wanted to share it because I think it captures the past week or so so well. All over now....