The Yellowhammer Poem by Ruth Manning-Sanders

His little slender head
Shone like a yellow daffodil.
When the sun peered red
Through the tangle on the hill,
Illuming to misty haze
The blossoming blackthorn maze,
Setting the spikes of gorse ablaze.
Then with such ardent passion he,
From his perch above
On the elder tree.
Sang his little song of love
Till his body shook with the shrill refrain.
Over and over and over again.

Ever repeated clear,
In rapid trill ever the same ;
For this year as last year
Comes Spring the eternal flame ;
Comes the thorn a shimmer of white ;
Comes the little wind that light
Sca;tters the froth of petals bright;
Comes the golden-scented fire;
Comes the need.
The quick desire.
That makes of his soul a burning reed.
Where bloweth Love his sharp refrain.
Over and over and over again.

Then the sun died.
And the place turned old and grim.
And the wind rose and cried.
Rattling in angry whim
The dark stiff branches of thorn ;
And up from the valley was borne
Dust and sand drifting forlorn.
But hiding his daffodil head
The cold night long.
Till the storm was sped.
He dreamed of his love and his little song.
How he would sing it, piercing and plain,
Over and over and over again.