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The Singing Tree
My love is at The Singing Tree casting seed around,
She does so every morning whilst in her dressing gown;
E’re other folk have lifted their lowly sleepy heads
My love has decorated the garden wall with bread!
Now standing at our window, as twos and threes alight,
We watch in fascination a myriad-sparrow-flight!
Explosions from all hedges, and from The Singing Tree,
From the middle to the edges they stream in constancy;
‘till early morning traffic and the passaging of feet
Causes all to disappear! then reappear in tweets!
Though there are far too many to number every one,
Their mutant variations have given names to some;
Amongst the browns a bobbing and flurrying in flight
There’s a tippex-tail that comes as he flashes up in white!
Then there’s little Obi, just like the village lad
Always very active and always very glad;
In this happy family thronging up and down
At our cottage window far from Wigan town.
Busy, busy, flurry, bickering in flight
Arguing and pecking; what a busy sight!
See the plants are quaking with every little bird;
Now the tree’s vibrating, then nothing can be heard!
In the other ‘cardens’ all along our street
All the neighbours tell us ‘we don’t get no tweets’.
Our sparrow congregation descends in unison
And we think it always will, till our singing tree is gone!
My love is at The Singing Tree, and thronging round her head
Is a song of their thanksgiving for her seed and for our bread!