Our Song Thrush

When we put out crumbs for birds
The gentle thrush comes down to feed
Until some bully blackbird thug
Drives it off with spiteful greed.

Browning's 'wise thrush' waits nearby
Until the angry blackbird's gone.
It then returns to feed again
And later thanks us with a song.

In bubbling fountains of clear trills
One bird alone calls down the dusk.
As others settle down to sleep
The curfew notes are sung by thrush.