Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

Though you’ve cut me with lay-bys and ring-roads,
where once droves of cattle pounded my back,
though you think I’m silenced, my voice still churrs
from sheltering hedges. I knot my roots into yours.
I’m your ditch of sandstone, your mess of goosegrass,
unreeling over downs, a gap in the may.
Come into me now when rain falls on a green morning.
I won’t trickle away, dead end to a building site.
No, I’ll hang a gate between the forest and mist.
You’ll lift the latch, walk me, through gorse, to the sea.