Where are the birds on a blustery day?
The wind has stolen their voices away
The lambs are still bleating
The cattle still low
But where is the birdsong? Where did it go?
Was it carried up high in the Sycamore tree?
Or lost to the brook as it babbles downstream?
Did it follow the moon
To sit with the stars?
Where is the birdsong? Has it gone far?
There was no goodbye, they were here yesterday
The Blackbirds and Robins, the Thrush and the Jay
Chirping and trilling
Their songs full of joy
An abundance of beautiful, glorious noise
When dawn breaks tomorrow I hope it is still
That the wind holds its fury, though I bear it no ill
That the breeze will be gentle
And not steal away
The voice of the songbirds which brighten each day
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