The field, a field, what field?
School used to have cows break in,
They’d turn up on the sports field,
Get cleared off by mid morning.
This field, Other field, which field?
Or the summer charity hike,
12 miles students one and all,
Hell I wish that wasn’t the call.
Play field, farm field, any field?
So many parks could be called that,
The closest to my home definitely,
Barely a thing upon it but small.
Still where I most often hear birds call.
We see the crows waiting for seed,
How often was Mum the one to feed?
Then songbirds up among the trees,
Only near the edge of the green.
It’s rare for birds to gather on the ground,
Outside cities even pigions aren’t.
Still they gather and I smile up,
Thrilled to see them back again.
Just the birds with flight in wings,
The sight that makes my heart sing.