| Trees | A very shy bird
Is the heron, my dear;
It will run fast away,
If you come very near:
It has a sharp bill,
A neck slender and long;
It is fond of small fish,
And goes where they throng.
It builds a snug nest
On some very high tree,
And there lays its eggs,
Where the boys cannot see.
Woods marshy and wet,
It likes to frequent;
For there it finds food,
And there lives content.
No sportsmen with guns
Come often to kill:
And when they appear
The heron keeps still;
It keeps still and hides
On a lofty bough near,
Till the fowler says, "Well,
I can find no birds here."
Then he and his dogs
Go off in the dumps,
And the heron flies down
To the bushes and stumps;
There flaps its big wings,
Right glad to have cheated
The life-seeking foes,
Who now have retreated.
| Ida Fay. Divider
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