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In The Cool Gray Of The Dawning

In the cool gray of the dawning I hear the blackbird sing
One of Nature's finest minstrels of the far southern Spring
From the males of his own kind he has borders to defend
When the urge to breed is on him he trusts none as a friend
In the cool gray of the dawning the magpie's flute rings clear
And even in the moonlight his piping one does hear
When the fruit trees are in blossom and the frogs sing in the drain
The wildborn birds are whistling in the sunshine and the rain
In the cool gray of the dawning I hear the harsh cawing of the crow
And the house sparrows are chirping on the trees by the hedgerow
On the 28th day of September of a cool ten degrees
Nature's minstrels are chirping on the bushes and the trees
And the gray shrike thrush is whistling his fanfare to the day
And the dark rain clouds are gathering in the dawning cool and gray.

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