Writing under the name Jane Mosse, her track record is impressive and, indeed, we once enjoyed a wonderful trip together to Italy on the strength of it, when she was invited to read one of her successful competition entries at a major festival there.
Birds have been the muse of numerous poets: Shelley, Keats, Tennyson and Blake, all penned immortal lines on the subject.
Edgar Allen Poe's Gothic poem, The Raven, is a perennial favourite, and writers as diverse as W B Yeats, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Wallace Stevens and Ogden Nash have all published poems about birds.
It seems, then, that Jane and I are part of a very prestigious flock.
A hunchback crow, its plumage black,
sits, like a threat, in a bare tree.
I hurry past, avert my eye
from evil. Some things hardly change.
A childhood dread, perplexing, strange,
still numbs me. Old fears never die.
No harbinger, no grim banshee,
could raise such gooseflesh on my back.