The Downy
The rapping of the Downy’s work
Upon an oaken limb,
Would concuss any lesser bird,
But causes no harm to him
By playing on each arbored arm,
He’ll ken what each’s within,
The hollow branches resonate,
The hard make little din
From healthy arms he’ll fly away,
In rotted, may carve a nest,
Yet I know he’s out for grubs today,
So for him not good wood’s best
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