Hear those darling starlings - a noisy bunch!
They’re singing their hearts out, Sweetheart.
They’ve taken over the storm-ridden tree.
So brilliantly clean, from beak to wings.
They chatter about the suspended weather.
Only the early morning riser hears their bobbery.
Oaks dripping, white sky, delightful tweets.
I could fly…I could fly - with no weight of pollen.
Hear those darling starlings - a noisy bunch!
They’re singing their hearts out, Sweetheart.