A Bird Tangle

A Bird Tangle
by Mary B. Boynton

It boasts no grandeur, this wild place of
ours;
It was not made for palaces or kings;
It has no jewels by the wayside flowers;
Nor gold, save that which every sunset
brings.

A myrtle carpet spreads beneath our feet
And from that sumach-bush among the
trees
There comes a song. O robin, were the
sweet
Wild strains of Pan half so divine as
these?

Among the clovers bending down before
Our steps, a mother bird chants joyously.
A tiny nest, three speckled eggs, what more
Is needed to complete her melody?

A little corner of this world of ours,
Where we may be away from other
things;
Be boon companions of the summer flow-
ers,
And learn to love our little friends with
wings.