me and the gorse crossed paths,
me with half sleep and the running dog,
the thinly veiled alluring morning mist,
gently dripping, and drying
awoken by the nature of the sun rising.
from the new season it is born,
firstly unheard, and disbelieved,
until it is pure,
pure and fully clear,
nothing quite so perfect this day
will meet my ears,
as this, the song you bring to me
and that in my cradle i welcome you
heard the first cuckoo of the year. always makes my spine tingle, just the fact that they still return after the miles of flying, it feels at last like spring has arrived. and i couldnt feel happier than hearing him call out over the valley this morning.