Dear Revd. White, though long deceased, you live

through all that you achieved. Your studies were

to detail life, not peer at specimens

behind glass. You grew your own, sowed and reaped

fruit, vegetables and a curious mind,

recording climate, species, songs and flights

in your clear, upright hand for our delight.

Your observations still inspire us:

how bats sip from the surface of a pool

while on the wing; how swallows meet winter;

when swans turn white; which birds sing as they fly,

or in the night. You watched wrens eat spiders,

saw trees perspire, and knew that not all owls

hoot in B flat. You brought us the boy who

ate bees – and chronicled the woodpecker’s

loud laugh. You tell where my sparrows have gone

(to fruit trees now the house eaves are too warm).

Following you, we trust we will not miss

wonders that should be seen. So, I, in thanks,  

sign this – with both a blessing and a x