In early spring when melting snow has slowly cleared
And from the mountain grasslands disappeared
He comes to sit on fence posts, there he makes his perch
To seek a summer mate, his single serious search.
Though not in brilliant plumage is he dressed
Just feathers gray with mottled yellow chest.
With head held high, from deep within his throat
Through open beak he sings his song, a sweet and clarion note.
He whistles loud and whistles shrill
A strong and clear refrain, until
She comes to him on wings so fleet
In answer as his calls repeat.
In clumps of grass they make their nest
Then feed their young on grassland pest.
They rise at dawn, he sings till dark,
The common Western Meadowlark.