In The Gray Of A November Twilight

In the gray of a November twilight the weather is windy and dry A golden billed male blackbird is singing as darkness is crossing the sky In a voice that cannot be mistaken and is always a joy for to hear The beautiful dark feathered minstrel who sings in the Spring of the year Introduced in this southern Country over one hundred and sixty years ago But that they do not know of their heritage only happens to be so Their song it is quite unmistakable beautiful melodious and clear Whenever i do hear a blackbird the northern groves to me are near In Spring in the high wood by Clara from where i now live far away I often heard the blackbirds singing after sundown in the twilight gray The voice of a bird of my younger years bring back pleasant memories of May Long after the bird has stopped singing the song in the memory does stay In the gray of a November twilight a golden billed male blackbird i hear In a voice that cannot be mistaken his song so melodious and clear.