Tis anesting, such sweet sparrow,
hath thou fleed from an icy grip,
tis springtime's warming blow,
that melts such waters, now to sip.

Tis some tunes, of squabbles in
thy nest, a gentle tugging snack,
of tasty worm, a hearty din
that chicks, with joy attack.

Alas, poor nesting sparrow,
thy chicks and you will flee,
when there comes the cold and snow,
then, I wonder where thy be.