  Birdies dancing on the snow, Merry as if this were June; And the little wiry feet Skipping to the gayest tune; With no stockings and no shoes, Chirping forth the morning news. O, you’ll freeze your tiny feet While you chipper glad and sweet! “Freeze?” they chipper, “no, for we Are the snow-birds, don’t you see? This is telling our delight For the morning golden-bright, As we breakfast on the seeds Gathered from the old dry weeds. Does your song of praises flow Glad, as we chirp on the snow?” endpaper divider |
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