Winter Birds
Poem : "Winter Birds" - L. Alma Tadema
Blue Tit, blue;
The snow is on the wood:
What can little tit-birds do
When heaven hides their food?
They flit from twig to twig,
They hunt on every tree,
And cry: “Tit, tit, I am not big,
Yes here’s no food for me.”
Dear Robin asks for bread,
o come and find it too!
Your dinner here is always spread,
Blue Tit, blue.
The snow is on the wood:
What can little tit-birds do
When heaven hides their food?
They flit from twig to twig,
They hunt on every tree,
And cry: “Tit, tit, I am not big,
Yes here’s no food for me.”
Dear Robin asks for bread,
o come and find it too!
Your dinner here is always spread,
Blue Tit, blue.
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