It is not a very bright start to the day <br />But brown backed bird with breast and unders gray <br />Already staking out his territory <br />Whistles on low branch of rain soaked blackwood tree. <br /> <br />His voice a voice that no one should mistake <br />And I hear him sing each morning at daybreak <br />And of humankind his type of bird seem shy <br />And grey shrike thrushes the name they are known by. <br /> <br />Their cup shaped nest of bark and grass I've seen <br />Wedged in fork of branch midst foliage thick and green <br />I climbed to it saw the eggs counted three <br />White with spots of brown that's how they seemed to me. <br /> <br />They eat small vertebrates and find large insects on the trees <br />And they pipe pleasant and cheerful melodies <br />You hear him once and you'll know the bird again <br />The memory of the voice with you remain. <br /> <br />He whistles on the blackwood in the rain <br />And compared to some he does look rather plain <br />But his music to it has a pleasant ring <br />And with the very finest songters he can sing.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-hearing-a-shrike-thrush/
