From high above in conifers she sings,
With dual voices simultaneously heard,
The varied thrush a shy retiring bird,
Whose simple haunting song in forest rings.
For years I wondered who composed the song,
While walking in the rain among the trees;
I heard the high-pitched notes my ear to please,
Though ignorant to whom the call belonged.
We learn the names of countless feathered wings,
Their shapes and colors, food and habitat,
The chickadee, the junco and nuthatch,
Their sight and song a fleeting glory brings.
To match the thrush song to the varied thrush
A gift of orange wonder under brush. 
~David Robinson, 3.3.11

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