Once, you could hear
Sheep munching grass
Half a mile away.
Now the soundscape
Is full of mechanical sounds:
We have lost the music of the world:
Birdsong, animal sounds
The wind in the trees.
Birds have to sing louder
To be heard over the sound of cars.
Whale song is interrupted by ships.
The singing will never be done,
But no one can hear it when
we have lost the music of the world.
8:19 am, 2 May 2022
Inspired by the phrase “the singing will never be done” in Everyone Sang
by SIEGFRIED SASSOON
I’m currently re-reading Precious Bane by Mary Webb, set in 1815, in which Prue Sarn says she can hear sheep tearing the grass on the other side of Sarn Mere.
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