March

Today our friend the Varied Thrush
Returns to its perch on high.
Singing a long melodic note,
Bearing springtime nigh.

The dark of winter over,
As song bears the sun,
Slowly, slowly, stronger, stronger,
The light is sure to come.

Let's be a winds that stream on high.
Let's sweep away the ornery sky.
Let spring, sprouting, budding, ripe,
Arise to meet us with new delights.

The Thrush awakens us in the morn.
On the wings of the Thrush
Our dreams are borne.

Ron Scutt