When the weather is bright and the warm sun shines,
Then he flies far away to the gloomy pines,
Dreary-looking, indeed, is his old black cloak,
And his whiney cry makes the whole house blue—
"There's nothing to do—oo! there's nothing to do—oo!"
Did you ever meet this doleful bird?
He's found where the children are, I've heard,
Now, who can he be? It can't be you.
But who is the Whiney-bird? Who—oo? Who—oo?
—Jean Halifax in St. Nicholas.