11 MAY 1985, Page 29

Song

'Because I'm almost as glad To be miserable as I am Unhappy to be sad,' Said the lone bird to the lamb, 'I'll attempt a song.' And the raven, On his worst day of despair, Cocked his beak towards heaven, Gulped icy air And cawed some half-choked words Of praise. They made no sense To the January birds — A nest-bound audience Who found fault with the metre And the notes — black, false and wrong. But the lamb and the snow looked whiter: The point of any old song.

- James Michie