Were you to glide on a northern gale,
Over lakes and into the dales,
There you would see, dear Nightingale,
Long, dry fields. The Magpies’
Great, grey county, barren as Mars,
Freedom costs! The price? An insured car.
Thus here trapped with sheep and
Pinions clipped, we squark for a star.
Old fleeing roads stretch high as a wall,
Dells, our cells! No Positive Pauls
Sing bard songs to comfort the
Sonorous, hark!—The Magpies’ calls!
John Bull’s body pinned at neck and sternum,
It seems our cage spans Yorkshire to Durham!
Written in response to ‘The Captive Nightingale’, by Thomas Jonathon Young, York, 16th October 2017.