The little bird sits in the nest and sings
    A shy, soft song to the morning light;
And it flutters a little and prunes its wings.
    The song is halting and poor and brief,
    And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf;
But the note is a prelude to sweeter things,
    And the busy bill and the flutter slight
    Are proving the wings for a bolder flight!

This poem is in the public domain.