Classic Poem

The brown thrush in the willow
Sings while glory fills
Dawn on sunrise river,
Dusk on sunset hills.

The river's gray and shining,
The hills are blue and high,
The sun's a yellow flower
Up in a garden sky.

Between the hill and river
My little garden lies
With honey for gold belted bees
Color for dragon-flies.

With shelter for the spotted toad,
And welcome and good fare
For any little singing bird
That cares to linger there.

Houses for the friendly wrens,
Corn for chickadees,
Suet for bright woodpeckers
That visit apple trees.

Wet bread for the robins
Whose fledglings know my call,
Apples for the catbirds
And water for them all.

The brown thrush in the willow
Sometimes comes down to drink.
He comes for scarlet cherries
And likes the place, I think.

I wish that he would linger
As other singers do,
To gossip with the scarlet
And swing upon the blue.

For when I hear him singing
At morn and evening, he
Seems to be thanking someone
For hospitality.