A footsore, work-worn, spent and beaten man , With shoulders hunched and eyes upon the ground, Too over-tired to see the things around, Or any part of outdoors’ careful plan, Turned startled eyes, as much-absorbed folk can, On hearing in the tree above a sound – – A cheery “Peak” and there, his upside downed , Performed a member of the Nuthatch clan.
The man paused, thrilled a bit, despite himself, And watched the bird, whose furious energy Still left him time to toss his ringing cry… You living quarter-note, you grey-black elf– I saw your act for him who leaves your tree: His step is firmer and his head is high!
