Death Of A Broadcaster (Poetry)

i.m. Terry Wogan 1938 – 2016

How dare the Spring arrive without you —
                has it no shame
but trip in unannounced — no mention
                of your name ?

How can the new-washed air forget you —
                lose your place
as though the Earth has rubbed your being
                from its face ?

Your chirpy voice bright as the birdsong
                morning-clear
and flowing effortless with humour
                year to year

is missing from the natural order —
                there’s a break
in life’s worn soundtrack where old echoes
                stir awake

and find you gone now Death has stolen
                what it can
yet listeners recall so well
                your talking man.