The memories come to me from years ago <br />Of tiny plain brown birds i used to know <br />They lived in woodland, garden and hedgerow <br />And many died in Winter frost and snow. <br /> <br />In privet hedgerows near the homes of men <br />Cruel Winter took it's toll on race of wren <br />From windblown frost no cold proof place to hide <br />And ageing wrens and young and fragile died. <br /> <br />For tiny birds they had a big bird song <br />And all through the Spring they carolled loud and long <br />And in late May mum was out with family <br />And a dozen young a common sight to see. <br /> <br />On St Stephen's the day after Christmas Day <br />The Wrenboys through the parish bike their way <br />And sing the song of wren at every door <br />The song their fathers had sung years before. <br /> <br />In Spring their numbers seem to multiply <br />And the distinct song of wren a song of joy <br />And the memories still with me from years ago <br />Of tiny plain brown birds i used to know.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wrens/
