THE HERONS.
Reading edition
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.
