Shape, I find, or line,
are what enchant me most
when I gaze at art …
then colour.
Best, of course,
when all combine
into jubilant, or sweet,
or thrilling, or even fierce.
My dad always said:
if ever told he had to choose
between sight and hearing,
he’d go deaf quick.
Agreed. But now
(hearing already fading)
I never want to miss
the full rich carolling
of the magpie in the morning
early up the street,
or the kookaburra’s
riotous chuckle.
The whipbird, the bellbird;
the high, celebratory
trill of the butcher bird;
even the rasp of the crow –
these are the songs
of my friends, in my home.
I’d not be without them.
Please, let me keep all my senses!
Note:
Aussie magpies are different from those elsewhere, though they
look very similar (and were named after the Eurasian magpie which
they most resemble). They are actually a different species from all
the other birds called magpies – and they have the most beautiful song of any bird I ever heard.
I'm sharing this with Poets and Storytellers United for Friday Writings #174, where we're asked to consider a time we had to decide between Two Equally Yummy Options. Though not written for that prompt, this almost fits it.
