88 Bird Day Book 



OUR LITTLE MARTYRS 



SHALL we care when nesting time 

 Brings no birds from any clime — 

 Not a voice or ruby wing, 

 Not a single nest to swing, 

 Midst the reeds, or higher up 

 Like a dainty fairy cup ; 

 Not a single little friend, 

 All the way as foosteps wend 

 Here and there through every clime, 

 Not a bird at any time? 



Does it matter? Do we care 

 What the feathers women wear 

 Cost the world? Must all birds die? 

 May they never, never fly 

 Safely through their native air? 

 Slaughter meets them everywhere. 



Scorned be the hands that touch such spoil- 

 Let women pity and recoil 

 From traffic barbarous and grave 

 And quickly strive the birds to save. 



— George Klingle. 



