In The Gray Of A November Twilight

In the gray of a November twilight the weather is windy and dry
A golden billed male blackbird is singing as darkness is crossing the sky
In a voice that cannot be mistaken and is always a joy for to hear
The beautiful dark feathered minstrel who sings in the Spring of the year
Introduced in this southern Country over one hundred and sixty years ago
But that they do not know of their heritage only happens to be so
Their song it is quite unmistakable beautiful melodious and clear
Whenever i do hear a blackbird the northern groves to me are near
In Spring in the high wood by Clara from where i now live far away
I often heard the blackbirds singing after sundown in the twilight gray
The voice of a bird of my younger years bring back pleasant memories of May
Long after the bird has stopped singing the song in the memory does stay
In the gray of a November twilight a golden billed male blackbird i hear
In a voice that cannot be mistaken his song so melodious and clear.