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

Take me to the river, but not right now,
not in this cauld blast, this easterly
striding up from the sea
like a bitter shepherd —

and as for you, you Arctic-hatched, comfy-looking geese
occupying our fields,
you needn’t head back north anytime soon —

snow on the mountains, frozen ploughed clods —
weeks of this now, enough’s enough

— but when my hour comes,
let me go like the shrew
right here on the path: spindrift on her midget fur,
caught mid-thought, mid-dash