A Dicky-Bird in February
A Dicky-bird sat in the Cherry tree,
one damp and dreary day.
Singing a song to the coming Spring,
and a song to brighten the way.
He twittered and warbled with hardly a care
for the piles of snow or the cloudy sky.
He carried Spring in that brave little breast
and sang, though the sun would hide.
He sang of the balmy breeze from the South,
of the swollen green buds on the trees,
and the melody of the waters' voice
when the brooks and rivers flow free.
He bubbled and chortled in highest glee
as he told of the first Spring flowers,
cheering the world with their brilliant hues
and bathing in sweet Spring-time showers.
He sang to his wife, in her sweet modest dress,
of the babies they'd raise in the Spring.
Of the bounty of insects to feed to their young,
and of teaching to fly and to sing.
He sang with such sweetness, and gusto and joy,
with his head tilted back and his beak in the air.
He gave thanks to his Maker, Creator and God,
As he sang that most beautiful prayer.