Bird Stories from Burroughs Part 8

Rat-tat-tat his chisel goes, Cutting out his prey; Every boring insect knows When he comes its way.

Always rapping at their doors, Never welcome he; All his kind, they vote, are bores, Whom they dread to see.

Why does Downy live alone In his snug retreat?

Has he found that near the bone Is the sweetest meat?

Birdie craved another fate When the spring had come; Advertised him for a mate On his dry-limb drum.

Drummed her up and drew her near, In the April morn, Till she owned him for her dear In his state forlorn.

Now he shirks all family cares, This I must confess; Quite absorbed in self affairs In the season's stress.

We are neighbors well agreed Of a common lot; Peace and love our only creed In this charmed spot.