THE WILLOW WARBLER 
In the feathery family 
Of noted singers, none 
That flies beneath the sun 
Can sing so well as we. 
Song is our gift by birth. 
We sing because we love it, 
There is no art above it 
Of all the arts on earth. 
Unlike some folk who sing. 
We have no need of notes. 
But from our little throats 
Compose while carolling. 
When winter’s storms are over, the first true 
spring song is sung by a bird that is called the 
Willow Warbler. His pleasant voice is to be heard 
towards the end of March and the beginning of April. 
He is a wonderful singer, this little bird, in his 
simple coat of olive-green, tinged with yellow. His 
song begins on a high clear note, and descends in a 
wonderful ripple of sound. 
It is hard to believe that such a frail bird has 
travelled thousands of miles over continents and 
oceans. But that, indeed, is what he does. He 
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