Grey Thrush At The Door

'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!' Low at first and flattering, Full of soft seductiveness on a wheedling note. Who comes in mercy now, crumbs of comfort scattering For a grey bird pleading from a cold, cold throat? Just a thread of tallow-fat, just a scrap of meat! Grey thrush is at the door. 'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!' Grey bird, friendly bird, merry bird in summer time, For summer is a merry time, full of tuneful mirth. Sunny days are singing days. But winter is a glummer time With lean days of scant fare; frost has locked the earth. Song goes as sun goes, and harshly drives the sleet. Where comes the almoner? 'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!' 'Sweet! Sweet!' Now it grows imperious: A short call, a loud call, impatience in its tone. Why am I left lingering? See, my plight is serious. A poor bird all forlorn, starving and alone. Grey Thrush is a-hungering, begging scraps to eat. It's far beyond my breakfast time! 'Sweet! Sweet!' Now a footstep on the floor. Now a sudden fluttering, And Grey Thrush is waiting there beside the open door. Kookaburra cocks an eye; greedily he's muttering; But grey bird is first to swoop upon the proffered store, A scrap of song in gratitude, then up, and off, away. And the mendicant has vanished till another frosty day.