University of Virginia Library

THE GREEN WOODPECKER.

If you want a workman, come and see
How I make my hole in a large old tree.
No shipwright's auger can be found
To bore it more true, and clean, and round.
You couldn't count the bobs of my head,
When I make the hole where my young are bred.
I hold by my claws, and I peck away,
And do a good deal in the course of a day;
For I tell you I'm not to be caught by a knot,
But when I come to one look for another spot.
When hungry, I go where insects throng,
And just put out my long sticky tongue,
And to the end many scores adhere.
I draw it in quick, they cry, “Oh dear!”
And, “Bless me, how soon we are all here!”
They may wriggle and twist, it's no use at all,
Nor they can't be heard if for help they call.
If by my house you happen to roam,
And would like to know if I'm at home,
Just poke your finger into my nest,
I'm always up and ready drest;
And if you shouldn't happen to squeak,
You'll know I'm somewhere else with my beak.
Before my young ones can fly, you may see
Them chase one another all up a high tree;
Up and up, and down and down,
Without a slip or a crack of the crown.
They cry out, “Mother, here we go!”
Then they set off all in a row.
Their claws are sharp as those of a cat,
So they don't fall, they're too sharp for that.
With my head out of my hole I sit,
And sometimes laugh myself into a fit.
But if a martin or hawk they see,
Oh, don't they come scuttling home to me!
It's pretty to see them run here and there,
Then scamper off in terrible fear;
Although perhaps there was nothing at all,
Except a dried leaf that happened to fall.
But oh! I am happy when under each wing
For warmth I feel them close to me cling;
And sometimes hear one say to another,
“Don't talk so loud or you'll waken mother,”—
Just as a sister would to a brother.