Black-capped Chickadee

 

A friend of mine, a friend to all,

We named him for his cheerful call

And the handsome little cap of coal

He wears on neighborhood patrol.

And when I’m in his woods he’ll fly

To some low branch I happen by,

Though if he were just somewhat bolder

I think he’d light upon my shoulder.

He offers me a friendly greeting

Then hops about throughout our meeting;

In his white and gray and sable

That tiny bird is always able

To raise my spirits when I’m low

And force my hurried step to slow.

And on the topic of the day

There’s so much that he comes to say!

Though what that topic really is—

Well, the topic’s only ever his;

For though I’d like to say I heard

Something from this little bird,

I’ve yet to understand a word,

And I really would agree

With those who’d shared his company

And aptly named him chickadee.

 

A friend of mine, a friend from youth,

But friend as well to fact and truth,

For when I’m passing by his wood

And ask if she is gone for good,

Ask if she’ll come back to me,

I hear him answer, plaintively:

No, never.

No, never.

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