They arrive in mid April of each year —
One more reason to celebrate.
Another wonder of spring to cheer,
But the purple martins are one day late.
Maybe they’ll come tomorrow.
Then their throaty cries will resonate,
And bring spring’s joy to winter’s sorrow.
The purple martins are two days late.
The sugar peas in the garden have sprung.
The daffodil bloom is first-rate.
The wheat fields are green beneath the sun.
The purple martins are three days late.
The insects are buzzin’ with no Martins to eat them,
Gnats have begun to congregate.
I just can’t imagine what would keep them,
The purple martins are four days late.
The martins have arrived on the very same day,
For more than 45 years — now this wait.
My old martin house by the pond is crumbling away,
And the purple martins are five days late.
They fly up here from far down south,
From the Amazon to our northern state.
In mid air they catch prey in their beaked mouth,
The purple martins are six days late.
Though I did not know what was in store,
I went to visit my old friend and neighbor Lee.
“Hello,” he said as he answered the door.
“There is something I want you to see.”
“I’ve always held your martins in high regard,
I love their acrobatic ways.
I put up a martin house by the pond in my yard,
They’ve been here now six days!”