Do you remember how the songthrush sang, <br />Those lovely liquid notes that spilled <br />Forth from his throat like a mountain stream <br />So fresh and clean and how they gushed <br />And filled the clear air of early spring? <br />Do you recall that speckled breast, the warm <br />Brown feathers, upright stance, the bird <br />Head cocked, alert, upon the lawn, <br />Say, early in the morning <br />Soon after dawn when yet the dew <br />Lay wet upon the grass? Now let me ask <br />When last you saw a songthrush on the lawn <br />Or heard one sing so that you knew <br />That spring had come? This bird, too, <br />Once commonplace, I fear has now become <br />Just like the shrike and corncrake that our fathers knew, <br />As rare a sight as some celestial comet <br />Or shooting star that lights the darkness of the night.<br /><br />Pete Crowther<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-songthrush/
