The Blackbird

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What’s Cooking In the Cauldron

As I sat here in the office I am blessed to be looking out over the garden and the burst of new life in the flowers and the trees is a gift to behold. The robins and the wrens are all working tirelessly to build their nests and lay their eggs but none more than the Blackbird!

He is magnificent as he stares at me through the window from his place on the plant pot…… he watches me to see if I watch him … for this pot holds a beautiful box plant and in the middle of it the blackbird has secured himself a safe haven for his mate and eggs – safely hidden from the world, sheltered from the wind and rain. His family will be allowed peace to hatch and mature until they can fly!

So inspired was I by his beauty I looked for a poem to share that would compliment him and this one of William Barnes appeared … read it carefully for it is written in Dorset dialect which after reading a few times was easy to understand and made me smile for those who know me I have always apologised for my strong “black country” accent and yet really we should embrace our dialects, accents, differences for these are what makes us who we are so ……………………….. ENJOY!

Try to take the time to enjoy our birds they are just the same as us striving to provide the best for their little families, working hard providing and protecting.

The wheel of the year is turning again so embrace, enjoy the spring of New life, Fresh Hope, New beginnings!

Brightest of Blessings Lynn x

The Blackbird
-by William Barnes

Ov all the birds upon the wing
Between the zunny showers o’ spring,-
Vor all the lark, a-swingen high,
Mid zing below a cloudless sky,
An’ sparrows, clust’ren roun’ the bough,
Mid chatter to the men at plough, –
The blackbird, whisslen in among
The boughs, do zing the gayest zong.

Vor we do hear the blackbird zing
His sweetest ditties in the spring,
When nippen win’s noo mwore do blow
Vrom northern skies, wi’ sleet or snow,
But dreve light doust along between
The leane-zide hedges, thick an’ green;
An’ zoo the blackbird in among
The boughs do zing the gayest zong.

‘Tis blithe, wi’ newly-opened eyes,
To zee the mornen’s ruddy skies;
Or, out a-haulen frith or lops
Vrom new-pleshed hedge or new-velled copse,
To rest at noon in primrwose beds
Below the white-barked woak-trees’ heads;
But there’s noo time, the whole day long,
Lik’ evenen wi’ the blackbird’s zong.

Vor when my work is all a-done
Avore the zetten o’ the zun,
Then blushen Jeane do walk along
The hedge to meet me in the drong,
An’ stay till all is dim an’ dark
Bezides the ashen tree’s white bark;
An’ all bezides the blackbird’s shrill
An’ runnen evenen-whissle’s still.

An’ there in bwoyhood I did rove
Wi’ pryen eyes along the drove
To vind the nest the blackbird meade
O’ grass-stalks in the high bough’s sheade;
Or climb aloft, wi’ clingen knees,
Vor crows’ aggs up in swayen trees,
While frightened blackbirds down below
Did chatter o’ their little foe.
An’ zoo there’s noo pleace lik’ the drong,
Where I do hear the blackbird’s zong.

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