On Hearing A Blackbird Singing

A few days left in August a few days from the Spring
This evening in the gloaming I heard the blackbird sing
He whistled as the sun went down somewhere on a nearby tree
His song so recognizable though him I did not see.

He sings around his borders to proclaim his territory
His is a familiar song to many and a familiar song to me
He sings his best at evening and in the morning at daybreak
A familiar voice to many and a voice one cannot mistake.

The wildborn birds are nesting it is that time of year
And even in the moonlight the magpie's song one hear
But the blackbird one of the birds I've yet to hear sing at night
Yet his whistle sounds so pleasant in the fading evening light.

As the shades of night are crossing the darkening evening sky
The blackbird he is singing on a park tree nearby
And the first day of September Spring's first calendar day
From the shores of Down Under less than a week away.