In a January storm two years ago (and I take heart from this now that colder weather returns to the northern hemisphere) I heard a wren burst into such loud song that her voice drowned even the roaring wind. And now, happily, this poem was one of two chosen by poet John Siddique as one of those commended in the 2015 Poetry Space national poetry competition.
Over the whinnying, plunging wind,
The frantic strain of sycamores bent double in anxiety;
Over the thundering train of cloud-carriages
Blundering eastwards in the blast;
Over the heaving spines of conifers uprooted in a tyrant gale,
One small dun wren
Opens her tight brown beak
And with a clear cathedral voice cleaves,
Breaks the blackened heart
Of this relentless western storm:
A shout to crack
The feeble egg-shell
Of the watery world—
Soaring, rolling notes, a mere breathful—to tip
The whirlwind off its antic axis.
Sing, wren, sing!
And let angels, larks & nightingales
© Lizzie Ballagher