The stonechats nest

by

Francis Duggan

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.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at The Lunatic Cry
by: Melanie Clouser
from: Frankfort, IN, US

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