A blackbird watches from his perch
Up in the hawthorn tree,
And as I dig and turn the earth
He waits expectantly.
The sunlight filters through the leaves
And gleams upon his wing,
Yet he remains oblivious
Of the sights and sounds of Spring.
He only sits in silence
As with my spade I toil,
In ardent contemplation
Of a feast upon new soil.
absolutely charming! flew over Cornwall on occasion. 10, john
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a good poem, enjoyed the reading... Deserves 10/10.