All through the Spring I hear him at daybreak
His voice is a voice one can never mistake
The song of the blackbird is a song that I know
It always takes me to the decades ago
When I was much younger a long way from here
The blackbird he piped in the Spring of the year
In the grove by my old home he piped loud and clear
That familiar voice was so pleasant to hear
The unmistakeable voice one can never get wrong
Of the dark gold billed fellow with the beautiful song,
With his gift of song his borders he defend
The cycle of Nature it never does end
He sings in the dawn in the park of the town
The song by his ancestors to him handed down.