Atop a tree, a blackbird sings
Alone, a simple melody
The tune that carries on the wind
Soon lost amongst the apple trees
Beneath the trees, in muddy pond
There lives a little slimy frog
It croaks a tune for all to hear
So proud upon a rotting log
And robins land on bushes too
When perched, they have their tunes to sing
And each is louder than before
Each one a little joy to bring
A woodman swings his rusting axe
Towards an aging sycamore
And whilst he works he whistles out
A tune he knows from days of yore
But in the trees the blackbird sings
And still it sings there all day long
The tune is what defines this bird
You can't tell singer from the song
