 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
THE REED BIRD
A little slender bird of reddish brownWith frequent haste pops in & out the reeds
& on the river frequent flutters down
As if for food & so securely feeds
Her little young that in their ambush needs
Her frequent journeys hid in thickest shade
Where danger never finds a path to show
A fear on comforts nest securely made
In woods of reeds round which the waters flow
Save by a jelted stone that boys will throw
Or passing rustle of the fishers boat
It is the reed bird prized for pleasant note
Ah happy songster man can seldom share
A spot so hidden from the haunts of care
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |