Bobolink
Bright little bird with a downward wing,
How many birds within you sing?
Two or three at the least it seems,
Overflowing golden streams.
If I could warble on a wing so strong,
Filling five acres full of song,
I’d never sit on the grey rail fence,
I’d never utter a word of sense,
I’d float forever in a light blue sky,
Uttering joy to the passers-by!