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.



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