text_original: Next the blackbird, hunting for a little fresh meat among the grey, mossed over stones that edge the garden beds, raises his head and cranes his neck above the overhanging heart's ease trails, and the foliage of the pinks, to see what the commotion is all about.
text_transcription: NEXT THE BLACKBIRD HUNTING FOR A LITTLE FRESH MEAT AMONG THE GRAY MOSSED OVER STONES THAT EDGE THE GARDEN BEDS RAISES HIS HEAD AND CRANES HIS NECK ABOVE THE OVERHANGING HEARTSEASE TRAILS AND THE FOLIAGE OF THE PINKS TO SEE WHAT THE COMMOTION IS ALL ABOUT
phonemes: nˈɛkst ðə blˈækbɜːd, hˈʌntɪŋ fɚɹə lˈɪɾəl fɹˈɛʃ mˈiːt ɐmˌʌŋ ðə ɡɹˈeɪ, mˈɔst ˌoʊvɚ stˈoʊnz ðæt ˈɛdʒ ðə ɡˈɑːɹdən bˈɛdz, ɹˈeɪzᵻz hɪz hˈɛd ænd kɹˈeɪnz hɪz nˈɛk əbˌʌv ðɪ ˌoʊvɚhˈæŋɪŋ hˈɑːɹts ˈiːz tɹˈeɪlz, ænd ðə fˈoʊlɪɪdʒ ʌvðə pˈɪŋks, tə sˈiː wʌt ðə kəmˈoʊʃən ɪz ˈɔːl ɐbˈaʊt.