The memories come to me from years ago
Of tiny plain brown birds I used to know
They lived in woodland, garden and hedgerow
And many died in Winter frost and snow.

In privet hedgerows near the homes of men
Cruel Winter took it's toll on race of wren
From windblown frost no cold proof place to hide
And aging wrens and young and fragile died.

For tiny birds they had a big bird song
And all through the spring they caroled loud and long
And in late May mum was out with family
And a dozen young a common sight to see.

On St Stephen's the day after Christmas day
The wrenboys through the parish bike their way
And sing the song of wren at every door
The song their fathers had sung years before.

In Spring their numbers seem to multiply
And the distinct song of wren a song of joy
And the memories still with me from years ago
Of tiny plain brown birds I used to know.

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