The wind, it whispers in the breeze
And blows its breath into the trees
It sings a song of joyousness
That’s gathered in the robin’s breast.
The mockingbird sounds crisp and curt
He does not wish a songbird hurt
And mimics all he can, but still
He stops short of the whip-poor-will,
You’ll hear the chorus of each bird
It is the best I’ve ever heard !
Claire V. Bogdanos 