TEN MINUTES TO ANY TIME

TEN MINUTES TO ANY TIME

The last time anyone heard a nightingale sing,
It was in the middle of the big field
At about ten minutes to midnight.
It was bitter freezing cold,
Pinching and snipping and biting
Any bare bit of skin it could find,
Turning every nose into a raw soreness
Until it was painful to be out there.

The frost was thick on the ground,
Still drifting down when they heard the singing,
So clear and beautiful it sounded like the voice of God.

Which was when someone said,
‘That’s not a nightingale, that’s the little stream
Sending its clear water over tiny stones.’
Forgetting the frozen river.

Then someone else said,
‘That’s not a singer of songs, that’s two owls
Calling to each other.’
But no-one thought so.

Finally, someone suggested it was a fox
Keening for another fox to keep it company.

The truth is, it didn’t matter who was the singer.
For those who want to, at ten minutes to any time,
They can hear a nightingale singing.

 ©2024 Gwen Grant.