And, overflowing four front yards
They carol till the moon is rising;
With ardor, or, as some say, "pash,"
In song kind or satirical,
Asking, apparently, no cash,
They make their offerings lyrical.
I'd be the first a spear to break
For Poesy; but this to tackle ...
It seems a lot of fuss to make
About one Tree and one small Grackle.