Tree with a Bird in it — The Weaver Bird by John V. A. Weaver

THE WEAVER BIRD

Gosh, kid!

that bird a-cheepin' in the tree All green an' cocky--why, it might be me Singin' to you....

Wisht I was just a bird Bringin' you worms--aw, you know, things I've heard 'Bout me--an' flowers, maybe....

Like as not Somebody'd get me with an old slingshot An' I'd be dead....

Gee, it'd break you up!

Nothin' would be the same to you, I bet, Knowin' my grave was out there in the wet And we two couldn't pet no more....

Say, kid, It makes me weep, same as it always did, To think how bad you'd feel....

I got a thought, An awful funny one I sorta caught-- Nobody never thought that way, I guess-- When I get blue, an' things is in a mess I map out all my funeral, the hearses An' nineteen carriages, an' folks with verses Sayin' how great I was, an' all like that, An' wreaths, an' girls with crapes around their hat Tellin' the world how bad their hearts was broke, An' you, just smashed to think I had to croak....

I can't stand that bird, somehow--makes me cry....

_The world'll be darn sorry when I die!

_ _David Morton_ (Who, being very polite, only thought it.

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