My current alarm clock, and a joy it is

font: Youngsook BTN

 

See more in my Bird set here

 

Bumbarrel’s Nest

 

John Clare.

 

The oddling bush, close sheltered hedge new-plashed,

Of which spring’s early liking makes a guest

First with a shade of green though winter-dashed –

There, full as soon, bumbarrels make a nest

Of mosses grey with cobwebs closely tied

And warm and rich as feather-bed within,

With little hole on its contrary side

That pathway peepers may no knowledge win

Of what her little oval nest contains –

Ten eggs and often twelve, with dusts of red

Soft frittered – and full soon the little lanes

Screen the young crowd and hear the twitt’ring song

Of the old birds who call them to be fed

While down the hedge they hang and hide along.

 

 

Done