Bird at the top of the world, who knew it would come to this? What are you singing? What are you singing for? Perhaps you just can’t help yourself. Over the entire hemisphere your flute-phrases fall, announcing spring again - our northern spring, stirring deep and dark within bare forests, advancing across plains toward great cities with their tatty city parks, their plane-trees shading street cafes. Even the seas present no obstacle, no border, because you’re welcome, bird, singing at the top of the world.
About this poem
This poem was written in Kathleen Jamie’s official role as Scotland’s Makar (February, 2022)