The Song Thief: a poem

Where are the birds on a blustery day?

The wind has stolen their voices away

The lambs are still bleating, the cattle still low

But where is the birdsong? Where did it go?

Was it carried up high in the Sycamore tree?

Or lost to the brook as it babbles downstream?

Did it follow the moon to sit with the stars?

Where is the birdsong? Has it gone far?

There was no goodbye, they were here yesterday

The Blackbirds and Robins, the Thrush and the Jay

Chirping and trilling, their songs full of joy

An abundance of beautiful, glorious noise

When dawn breaks tomorrow I hope it is still

That the wind holds its fury, though I bear it no ill

That the breeze will be gentle and not steal away

The voice of the songbirds which brighten each day