The Blackbird Is Singing

The blackbird is singing in the twilight gray
In a long gone Spring I heard his kin bird in a wood far away
Singing in the rain on a breezy Spring day
When the hawthorns were wearing their pale blooms of the May
It has been twenty one years time flies it does seem
Since I last heard the dipper singing in the stream
That flowed by the grove from the field by the hill
Where the glossy blackbird with the bright yellow bill
Was piping for to proclaim his territory
On the highest branch of a silver birch tree
As the dark shades of evening creep through the grey sky
A blackbird he pipes on a wattle nearby
In the wood I can hear his kin bird pipe again
As I walk in the fields in the wind and the rain.