A bird appears a thoughtless thing, <br />He's ever living on the wing, <br />And keeps up such a carolling, <br />That little else to do but sing <br />A man would guess had he. <br /> <br /> <br />No doubt he has his little cares, <br />And very hard he often fares, <br />The which so patiently he bears, <br />That, listening to those cheerful airs, <br />Who knows but he may be <br /> <br /> <br />In want of his next meal of seeds? <br />I think for that his sweet song pleads. <br />If so, his pretty art succeeds. <br />I'll scatter there among the weeds <br />All the small crumbs I see.<br /><br />Charles Lamb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crumbs-to-the-birds/
