On Hearing A Grey Shrike Thrush Whistling Poem by Francis Duggan

The grey shrike thrush is whistling a bird i know so well
He sings around his borders as if he wish to tell
Or warn male birds of his kind this is my territory
This patch of ground not your patch is for my wife and me,
His mate nearby the silent one is sitting in her cup shaped nest
With her three or four brown spotted white eggs kept warm beneath her breast
Their nests of grasses, rootlets and fibres in many places to be found
In forks of low trees or in bushes or even on the ground,
In woodlands and in wooded parks a fairly common sight
And insects, invertebrates and even small nestling birds are in their varied diet
On this pleasant evening in mid August just two weeks from the Spring
To hear the shrike thrush whistling is such a pleasant thing,
His song to us quite beautiful so melodious and clear
To his own kind is quite different a warning in it they do hear.