A Poem written  by my father, Dan McLeod

It’s bird watching time again;

A patch of bare earth here and there

Makes a likely robin pasture;

Yes, there’s something in the air.

There will be sparrows, larks and flickers,

A cardinal or so;

And soon the orioles will proudly sport

Their wings of black and gold.

But I’ve been waiting for the redwings;

There will be things a-stirring then,

For it’s a hustle and a bustle,

When blackbirds come homing in.

There! A dark haze in the distance,

A rising, throbbing thing.

Then the murmur turns to thunder

Of blackbirds on the wing.

Suddenly the tumult, bated

Like a whirlwind passing on;

Soon poplars are leaved with redwings,

Wing shields flashing in the sun.

Then comes a moment strangely silent

As the rising of the sun;

Till some part maestro waves his baton,

And the chorus has begun.

Like the purl of the running waters

Or the wind in the aspen leaves.

It’s hard to think those saucy rogues

Could spin such melodies.

“They raid my seedlings,” someone mutters,

“Shred my ripened corn;

Nature too makes some mistakes,

The blackbird certainly is one.”

Do we own the warming sunlight?

Do we claim the growing rains?

We lack the living touch of nature;

All our efforts are in vain.

Nature cradled all together

From some far off bygone age;

In her register of species–

Which one should head the page?

Plant some extra for her wild ones

And their beauty strive to see,

For if all were perfect creatures

What a dull world this would be.

Sing away you saucy beggars,

Carefree Gypsies of the spring.

Jewel the waning days of winter

With the flashing of your wings.

And in the misty realms of future,

AT some dawn time far away,

I pray you greet the early morning

Just as you have done today.