Will Harris

Five Poems

In Pursuit of Spring

Rows of finches hung along the wall,
battered ones a shilling and
the neater ones for eighteen-pence,

linnets pushing up against the edges
of their six-inch cage, sounding
as they had among the Downs.

I saw a man leave clutching at
a paper bag and not much further
up the road bend down to let

one of the poor things go; outside,
among the trees, that finch’s
dingy plumage made no mark.




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