The Blackbird – in summer

Just fifteen weeks ago today
On that Friday known as Good,
Your sumptuous evening song
Inspired my words.

The loveliest song of all the birds
You sang it every day that spring
Until your mate had hatched your brood
Demanding to be fed, and then
Your energy was spent,
From dawn to dusk,
On feeding, not on song.

We strewed seed for you on the lawn
And you came to know and trust us,
Watchfully waiting nearby in a bush.
Then, swift and low you flew,
Coming closer every day until
You left each time with bulging beak
To fill those ever-hungry mouths
Awaiting in your nest.

But today your mate has come alone,
And we, full of foreboding, have watched for you
In vain the whole day long.
For her missing feathers told us
Of some predator's attack
Which she survived, not you,
In defending of your young.

Now she must strive against the odds
To teach your young to fly,
Missing her mate to share the constant load.
Your lovely song is silenced now,
And your feeding days are o'er,
But those memories which you gave
Will stay uniquely in my heart.

Envoi

When some days passed your mate appeared again -
Though this time not alone.
Beside her, on the lawn, another male,
His dark brown feathers evidence of youth,
As was his pestering of his mother
To feed him only, not herself.
Will he return next year
To perch on that high branch where you had sung
And there reprise your glorious song?

John Mulholland
July 24th 2020