A Hardworking Wind Poem by Terry Dawson

Yesterday's bird-busy garden is gone:
A hardworking wind got up in the night.
A wind, to hear it, with much on its mind,
Impatient of trifles; with much to get done.

Songless this morning the birds look out
Upon a moody, unsure-of-itself dawn
Beneath wet, rain-swollen clouds
Hung low, rank on rank.

Even the bulbul, herald of dawn, is subdued
The Heuglin, daybreak's minstrel, is dumb
And high on his post, the lark holds his tongue.
Distant thunder rolls about in the foothills.