Little Birds

Little Birds

Little Birds are dining
Warily and well,
Hid in mossy cell:
Hid, I say, by waiters
Gorgeous in their gaiters I've
a Tale to tell.


Little Birds are feeding
Justices with jam,
Rich in frizzled ham:
Rich, I say, in oysters
Haunting shady cloisters That
is what I am.


Little Birds are teaching
Tigresses to smile,
Innocent of guile:
Smile, I say, not smirkle Mouth
a semicircle,
That's the proper style!


Little Birds are sleeping
All among the pins,
Where the loser wins:
Where, I say, he sneezes
When and how he pleases So
the Tale begins.


Little Birds are writing
Interesting books,
To be read by cooks:
Read, I say, not roasted Letterpress,
when toasted,
Loses its good looks.


Little Birds are playing
Bagpipes on the shore,
Where the tourists snore:
"Thanks!" they cry. "'Tis thrilling!
Take, oh take this shilling!
Let us have no more!"


Little Birds are bathing
Crocodiles in cream,
Like a happy dream:
Like, but not so lasting Crocodiles,
when fasting,
Are not all they seem!


Little Birds are choking
Baronets with bun,
Taught to fire a gun:



Taught, I say, to splinter
Salmon in the winter Merely
for the fun.


Little Birds are hiding
Crimes in carpetbags,
Blessed by happy stags:
Blessed, I say, though beaten Since
our friends are eaten
When the memory flags.


Little Birds are tasting
Gratitude and gold,
Pale with sudden cold:
Pale, I say, and wrinkled When
the bells have tinkled,
And the Tale is told.