Lockdown (a poem for 2020)

The first thing
we noticed was the way the birds seemed to sing
louder, day by day. Then,
as the skies grew bluer and the sun invariably shone,
living under a flight path we inevitably noticed the planes had gone.
Traffic became something exciting when we occasionally heard it pass
(and not to be confused with the noise a neighbour made mowing the grass).
Ferns, made bold by the cleaner air, grew twice as high as before,
twining around the garden chairs and blocking the back door.
Yesterday a plane flew over and as we wondered
at the noise and the white trail, I pondered.
When we leave house and garden for a more usual way of living
Will we remember, and will we regret the softer way the birds sing?

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