A rowan like a lipsticked girl. <br />Between the by-road and the main road <br />Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance <br />Stand off among the rushes. <br /> <br />There are the mud-flowers of dialect <br />And the immortelles of perfect pitch <br />And that moment when the bird sings very close <br />To the music of what happens<br /><br />Seamus Heaney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-181/
