 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
2
THE DEAD BIRD
As I was going from school one night,
I saw a little bird;
But the poor thing had ceased its flight,
Its notes were no more heard.
I saw a little bird;
But the poor thing had ceased its flight,
Its notes were no more heard.
No more it bounds 'long through the air,
No more it builds its nest,
No more we see its plumage fair;
Its first days were its best.
No more it builds its nest,
No more we see its plumage fair;
Its first days were its best.
The hard ground bore its little head,
And cold and stiff it lied;
For its life had forever fled—
The little bird had died.
And cold and stiff it lied;
For its life had forever fled—
The little bird had died.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |