XXIII]
THE PIG-TALE.
377
Little Birds are choking
Baronets with bun,
Taught to fire a gun:
Taught, I say, to splinter
Salmon in the winter
Merely for the fun.
Little Birds are hiding
Crimes in carpet-bags,
Blessed by happy stags:
Blessed, I say, though beaten
Since our friends are eaten
When the memory flags.
Little Birds are tasting
Gratitude and gold.
Pale with sudden cold:
Pale, I say, and wrinkled
When the bells have tinkled,
And the Tale is told.
