'Nightingales' by Jeremy Boyce

 Still Sunday sunrise quiet no noise then rainfall tapping dry leaves tiles and soaking the parched tarmac rhythm of birdsong through closed windows pigeons and turtle doves keeping the beat endless nightingale solos and other virtuosos calling out windows open to white stones sloping down to lush green hedge bulging out and up leaves lifted dog bark distant football cries man on your back spring iris springing up and leaning down outwardly searching for light avian orchestra always on song with rhythms and solos beats never missed and no bum notes rising above no-leaf trees carry white bunch flowers upwards to blue sky white clouds abundant and bouncing gently on thin twig hangers in swaying breeze spreading their thick smell perfume in all directions nightingale solos over carswoosh passing updownwards on steep road, black wet tarmac engine grind gear change sometimes nightingale solos through wind tree rustle and rattle hidden by abundant flower bunches swaying buzzing with bees and heavy smell perfume drip drop leaves around about drumming last night’s rain heard but not seen under deep sleep duvet shutters and knees drawn up still Sunday quiet and wet stone smells after the dripping drops downward splashing nightingale solos and tasty lunch coming on tasteful terrace white stones sloping to bulging hedge and wet black tarmac below ding-dong bells pigeon beat rhythms suddenly started and flying above dogs bark and distant football cries goals achieved chiming the time to kneel up and down on dirty ground pew cushions eyes raised to blue sky clouds and endless nightingale solos well hidden in the leafless flower bunch trees perfume swaying and sweeping in the still Sunday quiet breeze ding-dong bells and beat combo pigeons nightingale solos kneeling down and up in hope and faith