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THE RED-START 



In the porch of an empty cottage, 

 In a hole in the granite wall, 

 K the place that the Redstart chooses 

 For his nest so soft and small. 



On the crumbling walls of a ruin. 

 Where wallflowers bloom in the spring. 

 It is safe, in the quiet woodlands. 

 To open his heart and sing. 



He knows that mankind are traitors, 

 And foes to birds of the air, 

 \nd in depths of the briars and brushwood 

 He hides from the fowler's snare. 



