The Stonechats Nest

He still talks of the Scotland he did know And the place he left near five decades ago And the high hills where the gorse and bracken grow That in the Winter wear their hats of snow. Old Jock at heart is still a Scottish boy And his stories of Scottish wildlife i enjoy They all seem good but the one that i like best Is the day in Spring that he found the stonechats nest. At the foot of a hill with rough scrub all around Out of a prickly gorse bush that grew close to the ground A small dark brown bird with gray and chestnut unders did fly And perched upon a tuft of het nearby. His mate the plainer female joined him there And he knew they had to be a breeding pair They chirped and uttered forth a clicking sound as if in fear As to the gorse bush where their nest was he drew near. Beneath the gorse the stonechats nest he spied Yet he could not even reach it if he tried Hid amongst the thorns and out of harms way And far too prickly to reach for beast or bird of prey. In an open cup nest of moss and dried grass he could see Four tiny pink skinned nestlings the stonechats family In their thorny fortress they slept safe and sound And this marvel of Nature by chance he'd only found. The stories of the old man i enjoy Of the Scotland he grew up in as a boy But the memory of his that i liked the best Was the day in Spring that he found the stonechats nest.