Old memories remain as a source of joy
In the groves by my first home in the prime of the Spring
The wild birds of Nature did whistle and sing
The bullfinch and his wife i often used to see
They were birds that became familiar to me
The beautiful males they did not have a wonderful song
But once seen and once heard one could never again get the them wrong
When the hawthorns were cloaked in their white blossoms of May
The robins and chaffinches sang every day
And the jackdaws to house chimneys flew with sticks for their nest
Home owners do look upon them as a pest
The swallows back home to breed for a five or six months stay
For to feed their young in their mud nest in shed rafters chasing insect prey
Above the old fields to and fro they did fly
The feathered athletes of the northern sky
The past only remains in the memory
As mental images of the what used to be
But for as long as the gift of memory we retain
Mental pictures of what was in us does remain.
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