A while ago I read Shelley's 'Ode to a Skylark'. 'hmph,' I thought, 'I can do better than that.' I started writing thoughts and lyrics down, but when I came to write the lines:
The singing stops: he falls to ground.I stopped in disgust. Percy B can rest easy, for now at least. But what neither I nor Shelley quite captured was the simple joy of the skylark's song. To me it is the soundtrack to the best of places at the finest time of year: it is the keynote to happiness and freedom.
The lady skylarks gather round.
Get yourself up to a moorland on a fine day in spring or early summer and hear it for yourself.