THE little bird sits in the nest and sings A shy, soft song to the morning light; And it flutters a little and prunes its wings. The song is halting and poor and brief, And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf; But the note is a prelude to sweeter things, And the busy bill and the flutter slight Are proving the wings for a bolder flight! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SELF-SEEKER by ROBERT FROST MY LADY'S PLEASURE by ROBERT GRAHAM ON HEARING OF INTENTION .. TO PURCHASE THE POET'S FREEDOM by GEORGE MOSES HORTON TO THE BOY by ELIZABETH CLEMENTINE DODGE KINNEY TO MY MOTHER SLEEPING by MARY RUSSELL MITFORD REUBEN BRIGHT by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |