SUMMER VISITORS.
Reading edition
fed the birds in the winter, And so in the summer, you see, They flew through my open window, And stayed for a cup of tea. They little thought I was looking, the dear little feathered things, As they hovered o'er cups and saucers, and fluttered their pretty wings. For I was standing on tip-toe, In hiding behind the screen, And a livelier chirpier party, I think I have never seen. The air was sweet with the summer, the window stood open wide, My room was a garden of flowers, and lime-trees blossomed outside. So the old birds paid me a visit, And the young birds came in their train, For they took my room, with its nosegays, For part of their own domain; While they sipped the cream in my teacups, and daintily pecked my cake, And called to their friends and neighbours, that each and all might partake. But just as I stood there watching, Enjoying their chorus gay, My cat stole in from the kitchen, And all of them flew away— With wings that fluttered and quivered, they chirped to another tune, As they flew away through the garden that beautiful day in June.
A. M.
"summer visitors." (p. 140)
