WE USED to like the little birds, We thought them good and kind; We never took a single egg ('Less we left lots behind), And every morning me and Bill Put crumbs upon the window-sill! There was a Robin used to hop Right close beside our door, He'd cock his saucy head and say: "Please, boy, I want some more," And I would say: "Here's more for you And some for Mrs. Robin, too." But one day Bill and me went down To paddle in the stream And fell splash in! We'd sense enough To know we mustn't scream. And when we'd dried our clothes quite well You couldn't hardly, poss'bly tell! But when we both got home that night Our mother knew it all. She knew how we'd been @3soakin'@1 wet, And how we came to fall— And when she tucked us up in bed, "A little birdie told!" she said. Bill thinks it was the Robin, and He feels just mighty sore; He says: "That bird can get his crumbs At some one else's door!" I—just can't hardly b'lieve that he Would go and @3tell@1 on Bill and me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUGUST FIRST by HAYDEN CARRUTH VERY EARLY SPRING by KATHERINE MANSFIELD DON JUAN'S SONG by ISAAC ROSENBERG SURFACE AND STRUCTURE: BONAVENTURE HOTEL, LOS ANGELES by KAREN SWENSON |