You dear little bird on the top of the tree,
I am sure you’re as happy as happy can be;
With your little wings you can fly very high,
But with large ones I think I could get to the sky.
There are many things there which I’m longing to know:
Those clouds look like mountains all covered with snow;
Oh, if we had wings could we go there and play,
And tumble about as we do in the hay?
And where do the stars go as soon as it’s light?
And why do they twinkle the whole of the night?