THE little bird sits in the nest and sings <br />A shy, soft song to the morning light; <br />And it flutters a little and prunes its wings. <br />The song is halting and poor and brief, <br />And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf; <br />But the note is a prelude to sweeter things, <br />And the busy bill and the flutter slight <br />Are proving the wings for a bolder flight!<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/preparation-3/
