Blackbirds are everywhere,
Eternally they sing
In green, sun-netted gardens
All summer, winter, spring.
Deep in the tea-tree aisles
They whistle each to each
And call above the tumult
Of waters on the beach.
How brave the broken notes
Down grimy lane and street,
Lifting with joy then muted
Under the traffic's beat!
And by old railway-yards
Where the trains come clanking in,
Grumbling and growling, listen,
When the wheels have ceased to spin!
Listen and you will hear
Through the silence, strange, profound,
The blackbirds' song flung skywards --
A golden spear of sound!
First published in The Bulletin, 23 March 1955
