A Bird's House

Wood block print of a nest with eggs.

A Bird's House

I found a little bird's house to-day,

Round and brown and as soft as silk;

It was built in the prettiest, cunningest way,

When the trees were as white as milk

With apple-blossoms-do you remember,

Or have you forgotten in chill December?

This was the way: there were straws and sticks,

And the father-bird found them one by one;

And his wise little wife know the way to fix

The cosiest little home under the sun,

Out of straws and sticks and mud and clay;

And she built the whole on a summer's day.

Then four tiny eggs filled the soft-lined nest;

And, patiently brooding in sun and storm,

She cuddled them close neath her loving breast

And her wings so downy and soft and warm;

Then four little birds, with a "chip, chip, chee!"

Stepped out of their ivory house to see

What this wonderful sunny old world was about

With its wind-rocked cradles, and leaves and song--

It was quite a big world, too, they had no doubt.

And once they could fly, they would not be long

In finding out just what its size might be.

This was the story the nest told me.