A good bird is one roasted in goose fat

Bird song, bloody bird song.
Seeing larks as you cough your morning up.
Being wise with crows as the roads shuffle you to work.
Count the magpies because ITV was good when you were a kid.
Think any pigeon is a bloated banker rolling off a business lunch.
Look at the cuckoo, and wink at the lipstick pout next door.
Bird song, bloody bird song.
Feck nature and land and the watery place of the gods.

The Cannon’s Mouth