Season of the Saw-Bird
Sunny of a Tuesday
As I sit out on my porch
I won’t take my bird walk today
In a heat wave summer scorch
Years ago I learned to hear
I know my birds I’m rarely wrong
And watch my wild birds by ear
Distinct as plumage is their song
Except I never heard this one before
Kind of a goes “we-heeeee ..’
Followed by a ring and a buzz
Er – Errrrr – er – errrr- er – er-rent!
Wing wing wing wing …
From out back the plumber’s house
He renovates old bathrooms
Keeps his shop in his garage
Home with old tools and his brooms
Late July’s the quiet time
Most the Spring birds have nested
Mating songs are over with
Young fledgling’s wings long tested
‘Cause birds don’t fly north in summer
Their migrations commence after these doldrums
Quiet summer birdless doldrums
Now here again,
The season of the saw-bird
So, yeah,
I know he’s cuttin’ tiles
And that old coot’s no old bird
Still on a summer Tuesday
He’s the only bird I heard
