Thanks for joining us on this journey.
The plovers will be back next season. May your dreams be full of wings, waves, and starlit skies.
Goodnight — and wheep, wheep.

Hello there. This is The Plover Collection — written and read by Aubrey Lennox.
Three wee birds, three great journeys. Across moors, across oceans, and all the way home again.
Settle in, and let the stories take flight.


Out by the rocks where the tide pulls fast,
A small chick chirped as the storm clouds passed.
The sky turned grey, the waves grew wide,
And the wind swept loud from the salty tide.

The others ran as the rain came down,
But the chick got turned and spun around.
He chirped and called, but no one came—
Just the wind and waves and the seagull’s name.

He tucked in tight by a patch of grass,
Watching the seabirds wheel and pass.
He dreamed of warmth, of wings and sun,
Of mum and dad and the morning run.

Then just as the stars began to blink,
He heard a sound near the water’s brink.
“Wheep! Wheep!” it came—he knew that cry!
He jumped to his feet and gave a reply.

Back came his parents with feathers bright,
Their wings outstretched in the silver light.
They’d searched the sands and rocks and more,
To find their chick on the stormy shore.

They cuddled close on a bed of peat,
Safe from the wind and the cold retreat.
And as the waves gave one last roar,
The family slept on the stony shore.

Garry Peattie AI Voice

Scottish Farmer

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