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sisters & sparrows

Poetry. Photography. Life.

Today we went to Attingham Park for a bracing walk and to see the snowdrops.  The whole family and my brother’s dog went, partly because this is my last day at home…  Going back to uni tomorrow afternoon, no work accomplished thanks to bout of flu in the middle of the week… it’s going to be manic.

But I’m not thinking about that.

Here’s one of my favourite poems for you.  My sister read me this when I was a kid, but I only recently grasped how clever it is.

My Dog

by Ian McMillan

April is the Cruellest Month
might seem like a strange name for a dog,
and sometimes I think it is
when I’m shouting her name
on the high moors
in the driving wind.

‘April is the Cruellest Month!’
I shout,
‘April is the Cruellest Month!’
and my dog runs up to me,
barking, wagging her tail,
and I feel slightly, ever so slightly
embarrassed.

But then when people say
as they walk by me
on the high moors
in the driving wind,
‘Can a month bark?’
‘Can April wag its tail?’
I swell with pride
because my dog’s name
is image, and metaphor, and poetry.

So,
‘April is the Cruellest Month’
I shout, and
‘April is the Cruellest Month’
and the words roll round in my mouth
like Easter Eggs in a Shopping Basket
which is the name of my cat.

 

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