The Curlews Poem by Francis Duggan

The Curlews



How pleasant for to hear the male curlew sing
Above the moorland in the prime of the Spring
The male sings his beautiful flute like territorial and courtship song
Such beauty that to Nature does only belong
Big gray mottled brown birds of ways of their own
For their bubbling flute like song they are widely known
With thin long curved bills for probing for their food in boggy and sandy ground
And their three to four blotched green eggs in the rank grass always hard to be found
Of their three to four chicks they always take good care
Of egg incubation and chick rearing the male and female share
At their breeding Season none to them is a friend
And their eggs and young with aggression they always defend
In the northern moorlands in April to June every year
The flute like song of the curlews one often does hear.

Thursday, May 3, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: birds
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from 'rhymeonly'
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