Thrushes

‘There are forty fousand fevvers on a frush!’
That’s what they all say!
In fact, there are only three thousand,
But it was still quite cosy where I lay.
However, on a wintry day like today
I’d much prefer forty thousand if I may!

My sweet sounding song
Can carry on for very long,
And it warms the heart of many a soldier
Whilst I perch pride-of-place on the hangar.

I see more thrushes suddenly appear,
An influx of angels!
They come from the north,
A harmony of bells!

By James McCulloch

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