GRANVILLE OSBORNE.
Soaring high up in the bright blue sky,
Can't keep track of him if you try;
Flitting around in the pasture lot,
Likes to be friendly, rather than not;
Dancing along on the old rail fence,
Sunshine and flowers where the woods commence;
Got so he almost talks to me;
Head a-nodding, he says, says he—
"Bob-o-link, o-link, o-link."