[18]

[18]

 

Mothers in the GardenToC

ToC

 

I

Wagtail—pied Wagtail—

What tremor's in your breast?

On nimble feet, when we draw near,

You run about to hide your fear,

As if to say: There's nothing here,

I have no nest....

Wagtail—pied Wagtail—

We too their voices heard;

Away then to the water-side,

And fetch the food for which they cried;

From us there is no need to hide,

My dainty bird.

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