BIRDS AND THEIR SONGS




THE BIRDS AND I

Liberty H. Bailey


The springtime belongs to the birds and me. We own it. We know when
the mayflowers and the buttercups bloom. We know when the first frogs
peep. We watch the awakening of the woods. We are wet by the warm
April showers. We go where we will, and we are companions. Every tree
and brook and blade of grass is ours; and our hearts are full of song.

There are boys who kill the birds, and girls who want to catch them
and put them into cages, and there are others who steal their eggs.
The birds are not partners with them; they are only servants. Birds,
like people, sing for their friends, not for their masters. I am sure
that one cannot think much of the springtime and the flowers if his
heart is always set upon killing or catching something. We are happy
when we are free, and so are the birds.

The birds and I get acquainted all over again every spring. They have
seen strange lands in the winter, and all the brooks and woods have
been covered with snow. So we run and romp together, and find all the