Day 30 SOL19
Today I heard the cuckoo
Calling from afar
Its silver notes herald
Memories of growing up
On a distant tiny island
with four distinct seasons.
The land that shaped lyrical poets –
Wordsworth, Keats and Blake,
A wealth of exquisite painters –
Turner, Hogarth and Reynolds,
An endless feast of renowned authors –
Dickens, Austen, Hardy and Lewis,
All so quintessentially English.
Not to mention SHAKESPEARE.
I miss ‘seasons of mist and mellow fruitfulness’
And ‘the host of golden daffodils’.
I miss carpets of primroses
blooming in springtime woods
and redbreasted robins, larks and linnets
fluttering over fields of bluebells
and flurries of snowdrops.
When the cuckoo calls
I miss the land where I grew up.
A Note on this Piece
I grew up in England which is where I last heard a cuckoo, there don’t seem to be any in Australia. I’d almost forgotten about them till we came here to north east India.