Juvenile Bathing Blackie Not Looking Very Bonny

As I was sorting the washing fairly early this morning I saw the backdoor ivy bush twitching. A sure sign that one or other of the Blackie family was about. I grabbed the camera and sat outside in the sun and waited. Sure enough a juvenile Blackie emerged and had a lovely bath in the terracotta dish we keep topped up with fresh water for allcomers. Mr and Mrs Blackie kept an eye from the garden fence. Juvenile Blackie looks a bit of a mess at the moment but lovely new feathers are growing to make its 'mourning suit'. Unfortunately I had to shoot through a garden chair.

It's #NationalPoetryDay so here's The Blackbird by John Clare, my favourite poet. This is not, in my opinion, one of JC's best poems.
1
The blackbird is a bonny bird
That singeth in the wood
His song is in the evening heard
When the red cow chews her cud
His song is heard in morning loud
Upon the bright white thorn
While the blythe milkmaid sings as proud
And holds the world in scorn
2
O bonny is the blackbird still
On top of yon fir tree
On which he wipes his golden bill
And blithely whistles he
He sings upon the sapling oak
In notes all rich and mellow
Oft’ have I quit towns noise, and folk
In springs sweet summer weather
3
The blackbird is a bonny bird
I love his mourning suit
And song in the spring mornings heard
As mellow as the flute
How sweet his song in April showers
Pipes from his golden bill
As yellow as the kingcup flowersThe sweetest ditty still