I'm the friend of every sower,
Useful to the orchard grower,
Helping many a plant and tree
From its enemies to free,—
They are always food for me.
And I like dessert in reason,
Just a bit of fruit in season,
But my delicacy is ants,
Stump or hill inhabitants;
Thrusting in my sticky tongue,
So I take them, old and young.
Surely we have found the best
Place wherein to make our nest—
Tunnel bored within a tree,
Smooth and clean as it can be,
Smallest at the open door,
Curving wider toward the floor.
Every year we make a new one,
Freshly bore another true one;
Other birds, you understand,
Use our old ones, second-hand,—
Occupying free of rent,
They are very well content.
To my wife I quite defer,
I am most polite to her,
Bowing while I say, 'kee-cher.'
Eggs we number five to nine,
Pearly white with finish fine.
On our nest we sit by turns,
So each one a living earns;
Though I think I sit the better,
When she wishes to, I let 'er!
—Flicker.
[Zip and Phoebe (A Cat-Bird Story)]
BY FLORENCE A. VAN SANT