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 the gypsy poet

the blackbird

  the dorset meadow songbird
      was a singing in the trees
      singing for his supper
      so rich and pleasantly

      the woodland was a deck of green
      and the sun shone hot above
      the country lad went courting
      with his own true love

      the church bells were a ringing  and the pastor said his piece
      the choir was a singing  and the kids were all at play
      there were hayricks in the meadows
      on a lovely summers day

      the Daisy chains were hanging and the poppies decked the floor
      four and twenty blackbirds  were singing on the moor
      the farmer drove his tractor  and the town clock did chime
      it was wareham in the summ and the bars were full of wine

      the market stalls were crowded  and the hawkers were in tow
      the walls were high and grassy  and the streams were running slow
      the boys were out a fishing  there were floats upon their line
      the tramp was in the pasture sleeping off the wine

      the train was in the station
      heading for the coast
      and i was in the bakers arms
      drinking of a toast

      theres thunder in the purbecks
      lighting in the sky
      four and twenty blackbirds
      sing for you and i

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