The Migrant Thinks Of The Old Fields

From the fields and woods and hedgerows the thrushes known as redwing
Have come home to their breeding places in the far northern Spring
And countless wild flowers blooming where grass is lush and green
And the newly returned swallows chasing insects can be seen.

As old March fades into April the nesting songbirds sing
And high above the bracken the skylark carolling
And higher ever higher he carols as he fly
His familiar notes are ringing in the mid morning sky.

The migrant from the northern valleys at this time of the year
The dipper singing in the stream he fancy he can hear
The little river bird with snow white breast and feathers dark to brown
On rock amidst the rapids pipes his head bobbing up and down.

In the reed bed by the river bank the moorhen on her reedy nest
With her clutch of yellowish red freckled eggs kept warm beneath her breast
And to a high tree by the river grey heron flapping slow
And twig in beak to add to her nest she carries as she go.

The cattle out to pasture and in the high field by the hill
The buttercups nod in the breeze by the ever babbling rill
And the migrant thinks of the old fields by the mountains far away
And he fancy he can hear the robin sing at the dawning of the day.