The song thrush quietly sit and incubate
Her four small eggs with dark spots through the blue.
And nearby on a leafy silver birch
Her mate is whistling in the twilight gray
He well may sing to mark his territory
But I would rather think for joys of May.
Who could for once mistake the chaffinch’s song
And robin carolling on the cypress tree
And from the high field by the bracken hill
You gaze upon the splendid scenery.
The blackbird pipe on branch of sycamore
And dipper’s scratchy notes ring in the stream
And cuckoo repeats the same notes o’er and o’er
And wildflowers of many colours deck the green.
And hawthorn wear her cloak of snow white flowers
And pale pink blossoms on the crab apple bloom
And resting cow chew cud by the hedgerow
And meadow scent of Nature’s own perfume.
The countryside has never looked so green
And Spring has reached her prime in the Northern Hemisphere
And the wild birds sing from dawn till dark of day
In May the loveliest month of all the year.