Still day and night she cries to you,
"Mes pauvres petits! La grande charrue!"
So silently the screech-owl flies
You sometimes scarce believe your eyes,
Until you start to hear him shout
To timid mice, "Come out! Come out!"
Are baby martins in the nest
With extra-loving parents blest?
That they should murmur sleepily,
"Oh cuddle me, oh cuddle me."