170 BIRD STORIES FROM BURROUGHS 



Downy leads a hermit life 

 All the winter through ; 



Free his days from jar and strife, 

 And his cares are few. 



Waking up the frozen woods, 

 Shaking down the snows; 



Many trees of many moods 

 Echo to his blows. 



When the storms of winter rage, 



Be it night or day, 

 Then I know my little page 



Sleeps the time away. 



Downy's stores are in the trees, 

 Egg and ant and grub ; 



Juicy tidbits, rich as cheese, 

 Hid in stump and stub. 



Rat-tat-tat his chisel goes, 

 Cutting out his prey ; 



Every boring insect knows 

 When he comes its way. 



Always rapping at their doors, 



Never welcome he; 

 All his kind, they vote, are bores, 



Whom they dread to see. 



