The starling is my darling, although
I don’t much approve of its
Habits. Proletarian bird,
Nesting in holes and corners, making a mess,
And sometimes dropping its eggs
Just any old where – on the front lawn, for instance.

It thinks it can sing too. In springtime
They are on every rooftop, or high bough,
Or telegraph pole, blithering away
Discords, with cliches picked up
From the other melodists…

From The Starling by John Heath-Stubbs

Despite the snap of cold weather, the starlings were out in full force today perched on the branches of crabapple trees – mostly hidden by the burgeoning pink blossoms. It seemed as if they were rehearsing a mixture of musical numbers and squeaky songs for a springtime premiere. They put a smile on my face!