Friday Poem (1130)

Wet Evening in April

The birds sang in the wet trees
And I listened to them it was a hundred years from now
And I was dead and someone else was listening to them.
But I was glad I had recorded for him
The melancholy.

Patrick Kavanagh

I’ve posted poems by Kavanagh before ("Dark Haired Miriam Ran Away" and "Epic"). He died today in 1967.

[picture source]