The day of the corncrake1969

The Corncrake time had come again and summer days were dawning. The smell of gorse and meadow bloom did saturate the morning And from the long grass came a sound like “scratch of comb on matchbox edge” The Corncrake had returned again to carry out its yearly pledge. And there I stood on route to school with shoeless feet and fear of cane And listened while that Corncrake claimed; your late again, your late again.