A very classically-minded poem that talks of sylvan delights and all of nature's bounty, forever lauded by a mistle thrush – until someone chops down the glade where it lives. Technically, one or two of the rhymes are a touch obvious and a touch obviously flawed – bellies/berries – but the bounce and the rhythm are both there and yet don't really distract us from the pastoral nature and contents here. Visually the art is once again very classical – although the scene of a host of people around a mahoosive thrush doesn't really work. If you were a tree and had that huge thing landing on you every day you'd be happy to be chopped down. But there is hope and rebirth to be had on these pages, as it looks at the cycle of the calendar's seasons and how said nature can even bounce back from man at his worst. Old school without feeling and looking too dated, this has a current sentiment and definitely gets four stars.

This is a beautiful book. I adored the verse and the illustrations.
If I had a physical copy of this I would definitely find myself re-reading it many times.