Blackbird's Song...

               (or … The  Cuckold.)

The Blackbird sings a pleasant song released of winters chills,

Of new growth and of bluebell wood and swaying daffodils,

Of building nest in hawthorn tree with twigs and thistledown,

Of chasing insects on the wing and seeds where wind has blown,

He sings aloft the cypress bough surveying his domain,

His seronade at eventide puts holy choir to shame,

He sings of rising with the sun and endless days of toil,

Of digging earthworms for his young from shower-moistened soil,

The constant vigil fetching food had taken of his best,

And now the young are on the wing'tis time again to rest,

To sing once more of springtime and...a Cuckoo in his nest...

*Dedicated to Sandra....with thanks.

Contents