Turdus Pilaris
¶ 1
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In front of our house, there’s a bit of a green,
Where mere grass and a lonely bush fares,
And this morning I gazed out upon this dull scene,
While hanging net-curtains upstairs.
¶ 2
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There on the grass was a flock of fine birds,
Grey heads with a chestnut bronze back,
Their ginger buff breast was too striking for words,
And the tip of their yellow beak, black.
¶ 3
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Well, I got out the Bird Book to try and find out,
What species of bird was before me,
Pecking and chatting and hopping about,
As each, to a bird, did ignore me.
¶ 4
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“Turdus Pilaris”* is what they were called,
A quite common species of thrush,
And I watched all these fieldfares, excited, enthralled,
As they circled our solitary bush.
¶ 5
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Eleven I counted, a full football team
Which, for me, is just what they became,
And, as they went dipping, to me it did seem
They were limbering up for a game.
¶ 6
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They had no opponents, so perhaps they were training,
And stretching their muscles together,
Probably cursing because it was raining,
And grumbling about the damp weather.
¶ 7
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Then down from the heavens, there flew a large rook,
Or possibly it was a crow.
I couldn’t be bothered to look in the book,
So therefore I don’t really know.
¶ 8
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He strutted around with an arrogant air,
Like a ref who will brook no dissent,
And he fixed all the rest with a malevolent stare,
And eyed them wherever they went.
¶ 9
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The fieldfares looked up as he marched to and fro,
And I fancied I heard several muttering,
Probably hoping he’d turn round and go,
With his dirty great tail feathers fluttering.
¶ 10
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I turned to the curtains and threaded them on,
While cursing the way they were sewn,
And when I turned back, all the fieldfares were gone,
And the crow/rook was all on his own.
¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 * a most unfortunate name.
25
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