Caw Caw; or, The Chronicle Of Crows

In the merry spring time, thus) says my song, |VWhen the sun shines bright and the days grow long, And the crocuses brilliant, in purple and gold, Bloom in the gardens in numbers untold; When in the fields the grass grows green. And a few early lambs are seen; When daffodils in gaudy gowns Look gay upon the verdant downs. And fair spring flowers of each degree In every sheltered nook you see,HOW MANY STICKS GO TO THE NEST OF A CROW.UPON a bright and sunny day The Crows to one-another say, 1 .CAW! CAW! our nests now let us build. Away they fly: each.beak is fill'd With little sticks of beechen wood, With which they build their houses good: When all is done, with joy they see The work of their community.