Cuckoo, dear Cuckoo, has fallen so ill,
And here on the ground he is lying.
Oh, what shall we do the summer night through,
When our own darling cuckoo is dying?
At the earliest dawn we must send for the mole,
And tell him that cuckoo has left us,
He'll dig a deep grave where the willow-trees wave,
While we mourn the sad fate that bereft us.
The owl and the eagle, the parrot and dove,
Will watch while the nightingale's singing,
And solemn and slow, in tones soft and low,
The funeral song will be ringing.
SCHOOL'S BEGUN.
A, B, C, D—oh, what fun!
For our baby-school's begun.
Little head will grow so wise,
And how bright the big blue eyes!
Little fingers soon will learn
Pretty letters well to turn.
A, B, C, D—oh, what fun!
For our baby has begun.
[OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
Trinidad, Colorado.