brambledown MaRcy The morning bites your ankles, cold As you peep and then unfold Your eyes upon the frozen wold: Struggling against the iron mould. The day break stretches to your strain, Dapple-less feathers, nothing but plain Old brown to keep you warm, and again You taste the red berry’s colour, in vain. As you survey your frozen earth You think back to its vivid birth, Were beings alike indulged in mirth, Unlike today, your happiness dearth. Then flew past your home a stray Young robin from his usu’l way “Oh! How bright is his breast!” you think Compared to your brown old dusty mink “His overcoat is brown and dull like mine But oh! how bright his chest doth shine! With elegant yellow feet below How handsome is that little fellow.” Next from your perch you did but spy, With his keen and sparkling eye, A pert and sprite little finch With colour splashed o’er every inch. “How wonderful it can but be To be so coloured, Finch, like thee. With feathers white and black and gold (Unlike me) you: Finch, stunning to behold.” So flying from her perch up high Sick of colours falling from the sky The little starling starved of dye After warbling a tune breathed a sigh She can but envy the feathers of those, That are coloured, whom God chose. She must accept that her dull, dreary clothes Are nothing to despair of or oppose. 050326 what's it to you? who go blather from