Speckled breast,
Red berry clutched in your beak.
Mistle thrush on winter's frosty lawn.
I heard you sing two moons ago-
Storm thrush in a wind bowed tree top

In spring you came to the garden,
Fat, fluffed, child with your mother
Feasting then on hoards of leaf gorged caterpillars
Who'd rendered felty mullien leaves to shreds.