The Cardinals And The Bishop’s Son
‘Twas a cold and sodden May,
When Bishop’s Son and wife and pup,
Traveled far, from South to the North,
Where at home they did wind up.
Bishop’s Son tended the land,
Then saw unruly growth on trees,
So raised his axe to trim the shrubs,
When a sweet sight he did see.
A nest of rosy hatchlings,
With eyes still closed and mouths outstretched,
As Red Father-Bird stood his guard,
And Mother, more food did fetch.
She, plain in plumage, did fly,
From mate on fence, to branch, to nest,
Singing proud of her chicks, well-born,
In Bishop’s Son’s tree of rest.