The Seventh Of June

The tiny frogs singing in the roadside drain
And the sky overcast it is looking like rain
And though not in any way cold enough for to snow
The wind from the hill with a chilly breath blow.

The bird who does sing every day of the year
The silvery billed magpie so pleasant to hear
Once heard him one never could hope to get wrong
Familiar to all is his beautiful song.

For the seventh day of June it is not a bad day
And Spring after all is not that far away
In the nearby park i can hear the pee wee
And the sparrows are chirping on the garden tree.

The Autumn is over and Summer long gone
And on the first week of Winter the clock ticking on
The magpie is fluting his beautiful tune
It is not a bad day for the seventh of June.