TO MY TOY CANARY

Wee saffron sage, Wee saffron sage, Make-believe bird, fluffy, absurd, In mimic cage Through beady eyes you scrutinize A Noisy Age.

You boast no “Tree,” No painted shell your Natal Cell, Your Pedigree, Neatly displayed, reads simply, “Made In Germany.” What do I care Tho’ to fresh seed you pay no heed— Since on Plain Air You gayly feast? Of that at least I have to spare. You do not pour From your wide bill a gladsome trill, Thanks be, therefore! The best of tune, repeated, soon Becomes a bore! You simply stare When I exclaim “Wilhelm” (your name); You do not care For William Hohenzollern, tho’ His name you bear. What would you say If William the Unsilent, he Should come your way? And fume, and pout, and storm—and shout, “Lèse-Majesté!” ’Twould vex his pride To see you hold that Gift of Gold To him denied— “Silence,” the sole and only rôle He has not tried. Fear not his grim, Imperial ire; no torture dire, No dungeon dim, Your fate shall be: This land is free— At least from him.

Wee saffron sage, Pipe all day long your silent song While by your cage, Musing, I let my soul forget The Noisy Age.