The Thrush is there for all to see
Her beauty to behold
She hops on twig and branch and tree
Her feet must be so cold.
For as the icy snow descends
To carpet field and rush
In starkness glow of brilliant white
Swathed in blankets of delight
She is a sparkling speckled sight
Oh the Glory of the Thrush.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem