Friday, April 28, 2017

Nest Eggs by Robert Louis Stevenson and Gyo Fujikawa

Birds all the sunny day       Flutter and quarrel Here in the arbour-like       Tent of the laurel. Here in the fork       The brown nest is seated; Four little blue eggs       The mother keeps heated. While we stand watching her       Staring like gabies, Safe in each egg are the       Bird’s little babies. Soon the frail eggs they shall       Chip, and upspringing Make all the April woods       Merry with singing. Younger than we are,       O children, and frailer, Soon in the blue air they’ll be,       Singer and sailor. We, so much older,       Taller and stronger, We shall look down on the       Birdies no longer. They shall go flying       With musical speeches High overhead in the       Tops of the beeches. In spite of our wisdom       And sensible talking, We on our feet must go       Plodding and walking.

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