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"Were it not for me," Said a chickadee, "Not a single flower on earth would be; For under the ground they soundly sleep And never venture an upward peep, Till they hear from me, Chickadee-dee! "I tell Jack Frost when 'tis time to go And carry away the ice and snow; And then I hint to the jolly old sun, A little spring work, sir, should be done. And he smiles around On the frozen ground, And I keep up my cheery, cheery sound, Till echo declares in glee, in glee, 'Tis he! 'tis he! The chickadee-dee! |
"And then I waken the birds of spring — 'Ho, ho! 'tis time to be on the wing.' They trill and twitter and soar aloft, And I send the winds to whisper soft, Down by the little flower-beds, Saying, 'Come show your pretty heads!' The spring is coming, you see, you see! For so sings he, The chickadee-dee!" The sun he smiled; and the early flowers Bloomed to brighten the blithesome hours, And song-birds gathered in bush and tree; But the wind he laughed right merrily, As the saucy mite of a snowbird he Chirped away, "Do you see, see, see? I did it all! Chickadee-dee!" |