We're starlings, the misses, meself and the boys,
We don't go round hopin', we walks.
We don't go in for this singing all day,
And twittering about, we just squawks.
We don't go in for these fashionable clothes,
Like old Missel Thrush, and his spots,
Me breast isn't red, there's no crest on me head,
We've got sort of, hardwearing...dots.
We starlings, the misses, meself and the boys,
We'll eat anything that's about,
Well anything but that old half coconut,
I can't hold it still. I falls out.
What we'd rather do, is wait here for you,
To put out some bread for the tits,
And then when we're certain, you're there by the curtain,
We flocks down and tears it to bits.
But we starlings, the misses, meself and the boys,
We reckon that we're being got at,
You think for two minutes, them finches and linnets,
You never sees THEM being shot at.
So the next time you comes out to sprinkle the crumbs out,
And there's starlings there, making a noise,
Don't you be so quick to heave half a brick,
It's the misses, meself and the boys!
Poem by Pam Ayres
She may not be Keats or Wordsworth, but I think she gets the essence of the Starling to perfection.
Garden Birds Lots of Starlings are visiting, up to 40 at a time and a big increase in the number of Blackbirds around seems to have coincided with the cold weather. Greenfinches, Chaffinches and Collared Doves are enjoying the sunflower seeds I'm putting out and both Carrion Crows and Rooks are regular visitors.