The Lime Street Naturalists Poem by Clare Brown

It's true what they say
About poems, nature, death and life.
Pausing for thought whilst looking for
Scientific heroes amongst rhythm of stones
The musical notes of poetic meter

The names of my City churches muttered:
Some gone and half forgotten:
Saint Antholin, Benet, Dionis, All Hallows.
The people moved in death by
A vigorous space needing City

The magpie approaches
Drawn by my stillness
Looking for life under leaves
His glisten of blue-black-white
Like marble enlivened, shrieks.

The oblivious bee pauses
Hovers and vanishes
A fleeting meeting of buzz and Ethel
Sweetness over Geranium robertianum
And earthly detritus

The squirrel scratches up the tree
Flickingly shy, peering at me
Whilst other sounds bring the stones alive
The irony is I'm looking for naturalists
And they're here, still, looking at nature