The Birdhouse

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Imagination sets in, pretty soon I’m singing

Doo, doo, doo, lookin’ out my back door.

The last resort of the artist, when inspiration is slow, take a look out the window. This is an easy one and I should know it well. This is our back garden for thirty years, though shorter now and more verdant than ever. The birdhouse and shed stretch along the back wall, overhung by trees, embraced by exuberant clematis and fronted by an explosion of flowers in summer. Here it’s caught in between seasons, in a monochrome fantasy. My muse suggested leaving it as is and so I present it thus. Perhaps when summer comes (it won’t be long till summer comes) I will launch in to a colour version. Meanwhile … 

Giant doin’ cartwheels, statue wearin’ high heels

Look at all the happy creatures dancin’ on the lawn

Bother me tomorrow, today I’ll buy no sorrow

Doo, doo, doo, lookin’ out my back door.

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