The song of the blackbird
Can now be heard
Up in the tree tops -
High above the shops.
It may well be raining,
But he’s not complaining.
The day may well be grey,
But he keeps singing away.
The rain makes us frown,
But doesn’t get him down.
His song fills the air,
Whether it’s rainy or fair.
As we rush around,
On a branch, he rests,
Singing out his best.
Only an astute few
Hear his song so true;
They possess a keen ear,
And are filled with cheer.
Angela Wybrow's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (The Blackbird by Angela Wybrow )
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