And their poor little legs—
I am sure it is so—
They ache, and they ache,
For they’re weary, you know.
And that is the reason that far in the night
You may hear them say “Dear-r-r!” if you listen just right,
For the poor little birdies must sleep on the bough,
And they want to lie down, but they do not know how.
Just think of it, darling; suppose you must stand
On those little brown legs, all so prettily planned;