The Phoebe's Nest In The Old Well-wheel
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," why, 'tis a little bird,
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," singing the pretty word;
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," brown feathers cover him,
Gray breast, with blackish stripes scattered all over him.
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," here comes his little mate,
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," both on the garden gate,
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," loving now they trill,
Planning to build a nest in the old well-wheel.
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"Phoe-be, phoe-be," now the nest is begun;
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," now it is nearly done;
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," how will the birdies feel,
When the egg is dropped down, with turn of the wheel.
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," children are sorry now,
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," birds are all a-worry now,
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," laying eggs day by day,
While the turn of the wheel ever drops them away.
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," never the lesson learned,
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," year by year they returned,
"Phoe-be, phoe-be," building persistently,
Where the turn of the wheel dropped the eggs all away.
Phoe-be, phoe-be, yet not in vain you wrought,
Phoe-be, phoe-be, for, by your folly taught,
Phoe-be, phoe-be, children plan so to build,
That no eggs may be lost by the turn of life's wheel.