The Little Thrush Poem by Jesse Kloos

A wistful little Thrush was perched
Aloft upon a stem—
Observing all the other birds,
Comparing her to them.

While their blessings she was counting—
Finding herself scant and wanting—
She began to softly croon,
To each, in turn, a praiseful tune:

'Behold the handsome Finch of gold,
Whose brilliant plumage is extolled
As droplets from the fiery Sun—
Their luster is eclipsed by none!

'And the Cardinal, ruby-red,
Befitting crowns upon their head!
Befitting adoration rings,
For their adornment fit for kings!

'Consider now the Hummingbird:
By predators they're undeterred
From any place they wish to feed,
For they evade them with their speed!

'Ah! Wily Raven, keen of mind,
And keen of sight and smell in kind.
Outsmart them once, but I am sure,
That you will do it, nevermore! '

And on she went with her lament
Until at last her voice was spent
And static air its silence lent.

Startled when the silence broke!
Startled when below her spoke,
A poet who had all along,
Listened to her wistful song.
Startled by the things he said,
When off his paper he had read:

'Continue singing little bird—
I know not what you say—
But fairer voice I've never heard,
Nor such a lovely lay!

'Oh, do sing on at my behest,
A glad and joyous sound,
For o'er all creatures you've been blest,
Oh, how your gifts abound! '