“Black-capped Chickadee”

In the birch woods as dawn is thinning,  
A flit of black, a note that's winning—  
The black-capped chickadee, bright and spry,  
With winter’s glint inside his eye.  

He dips and darts on nimble wing,  
A bead of coal, a living spring,  
His cap as black as midnight ink  
Above white cheeks and breast of pink.  

He cheeps a greeting, chips his name,  
Chick-a-dee-dee!—a tiny flame  
That warms the hush of frosted air,  
A cheerful boldness everywhere.  

Among the spruce, the tangled vines,  
He finds the seeds the sun refines,  
Tucking treasures in the bark,  
Returning later after dark.  

In feathered ball he braves the storm,  
Clever and plump, he keeps his warm,  
A woodland heart, a winter friend,  
With hope and song to never end.  

When icicles like daggers grow  
And silver veils the world below,  
One voice, persistent in the pine,  
Lets frostbound hearts and hope entwine.  

O little spirit in the tree,  
The woods would lonely, silent be  
If not for you—so brave, so free—  
Our plucky black-capped chickadee.

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