48 
OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 
The purple mist by sunbeams kissed 
Drifts upward toward the morning’s splendor 
And through the haze of shaded ways 
The plaintive reed pipes low and tender— 
Bob-bob-white. 
While fainter, sweeter, softer grown 
The answer on the breeze is blown— 
Bob-white. 
The shadows sleep in hollows deep; 
The dewy paw paw leaves are thrilling; 
The silence broods o’er solitudes, 
Unbroken, save one pure note trilling— 
Bob-bob-white! 
So pure, so clear, so sweetly rare, 
The answer steals upon the air— 
Bob-white. 
O song of youth! Of love and truth 
Of mellow day forever dying! 
Still through the years my sad heart hears 
Your tender cadence sighing, sighing— 
Bob-bob-white. 
And far across life’s troubled ways 
The echo comes from boyhood days 
Bob-white. 
QUESTIONS: 
Have you ever met Bob White ? 
Where? 
Was he anxious to become acquainted ? 
How did he look? 
What did he say, Bob-white or More-wet ? 
