I climbed up the karaka
Into a nest all made of
But soft as feathers.
I made up a song that went on singing all by
And hadn't any words, but got sad at the end.
There were daisies in the grass under the tree.
I said just to try them:"I'll bite off your heads and give them to my little children to eat."But they didn't believe I was a bird;
They stayed quite open.
The sky was like a blue nest with white
And the sun was the mother bird keeping it warm.
That's what my song said: though it hadn't any words.
Little Brother came up the patch, wheeling his barrow.
I made my dress into wings and kept very quiet.
Then when he was quite near I said: "Sweet, sweet!"For a moment he looked quite startled;
Then he said: "Pooh, you're not a bird;
I can see your legs."But the daisies didn't really matter,
And Little Brother didn't really matter;
I felt just like a bird.
