Classic Poem

When, Babette, with joy you're stirred,
You remind me of a bird,
As your little lungs you fill
And give out a bird-like trill.

Where you learned it, goodness knows;
From some birdie, I suppose.
Many feathered troubadours
Have their nests not far from yours.

More than music born of art,
Bird-notes touch the human heart;
So, Babette, I feel a thrill
When you sound your little trill.

Birds and babies are, we know,
Best of creatures here below;
But for them how dull a place
Were this drifting speck in space.