Splotches of red, adorn sleek blackened wings
The red-wing blackbird sways on reed as he sings
Of what does he warble, of whom does he speak?
He calls for his mate, they met just last week
Soon they will mate, build a home nay a nest
And mom and pop blackbirds will so do their best
To provide for their young, who clamor and squawk
Feed me! Feed me! They eat, sleep and talk
The chicks are replete with soft downy feathers
And they mature in all types of inclement weather
Tiny crimson flecks appear on soon to fly wings
And the proud parents weep ‘tween melancholy bird sings
The family knows naught of the world’s ongoing strife
Save encroaching “progress”, intersecting their life
Parting soon comes, ‘tis now the reckoning day
I’ve no red, I’ve no wings…Fly little blackbird…’Tis I who shall stay
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