Tree with a Bird in it — A Ballad of the Bird Dance of Pierrette by Theodosia Garrison

[Footnote 1: Note by the Collator: I do not pretend to explain the veery-complex of American poets.

They all seemed possessed to rub it into the poor bird that he wasn't one.

] _Theodosia Garrison_ (Who began cheerfully, but reduced her audience to tears, which she surveyed with complacence, by the third line.

) A BALLAD OF THE BIRD DANCE OF PIERRETTE

_Pierrette's mother speaks:_ "Sure is it Pierrette yez are, Pierrette and no other?

(Och, Pierrette, me heart is broke that ye shud be that same--) Pertendin' to be Frinch, an' me yer poor ould Irish mother That named ye Bridget fer yer aunt, a dacent Dublin name!

Ye that was a pious girrl, decked out in ruffled collars, With yer hair that docked an' frizzed--if Father Pat shud see!

Dancin' on a piece o' grass all puddle-holes an' hollers, Amusin' these quare folk that's called a Pote-Society!"

_But it was Bridget Sullivan,_ _Her locks flour-sprent,_ _That danced beneath the flowering tree_ _Leaping as she went.

_ "If there's folk to stare at ye ye'll dance for all creation (Since ye went to settlements 'tis little else I've heard), Letting yer good wages go to chat of 'inspiration,' Flappin' up an' down an' makin' out yez are a burrd!

Sure if ye got cash fer it 'tis little I'd be sayin' (Och, Pierrette, stenographin' 'tis better wage ye'll get,) Sorra wan these long-haired folk has spoke till ye o' payin', Talkin' of yer art, an' ye a leppin' in the wet!"

_But it was Bridget Sullivan,_ _Her head down-bent,_ _Went back on the three-thirteen,_ _Coughing as she went.

_ _William Griffith_ (Who felt for her.

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