There is something very iconic about the lark, and hearing its extravagant song in open grasslands is one of summer’s great pleasures. No wonder the bird has inspired such great music and poetry. This is Bill Caddick’s lullaby, Waiting for the Lark
Sleep on child it is not quite day, for the moon has still to set.
Oh the lark she will cry and bring down the morning to where you lie,
But the lark has not risen yet.
Sleep on child while the birds rest on, the cow she sleeps in her stall.
Oh the meadow stands grey in this dew-down moment before the day,
And waits for the lark to call.
Sleep on child while the fields are still, they wait for your father’s hand.
But he will not go, and the sun will not shine, and the cock will not crow,
Till the lark cries over the land.
Sleep on child and heed no sound, for your father may rise in the dark,
With his boots in his hand go drowsily down by the doorway to stand,
Waiting for the lark.