The Tawny Throstle
Trudging under frozen starlit skies
Against stiff Winters bitter blowes...
When ambling up past frosted trees
From the wooded valley down below.
As stepping into a clearing glade,
Surround ragged drifts of thinning snow,
Once Summers haze - long since forbade,
Now pale Moon beams all aglow.
For within this realm of Twilight,
Perched high up in a bush,
Snugly within his feathered form
Roosts a warbled Darkling Thrush.
Stirred from his ruffled thoughts...
Dulcet voice lifts upon still night:
With euphonious notes so sweetly sung -
Poured forth in harmonious delight!
Oh tawny Throstle, nemesis of
Nightingales,
Did Heavens Choirs ever sound so sweet?
Your scrawny throat of melodious rails -
That kept my lover from her feet!
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2015
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