<h2>THE PIGEONS.</h2>
<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
Under the big nursery table<br/>
Are Sue, Don, Harold, and Mabel,<br/>
All playing, with joy and delight,<br/>
That pigeons they are, dressed in white.</p>
<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
Don’t you hear their gentle “coo, coo”?<br/>
Ah, now they fly out in full view!<br/>
And over the meadow they go—<br/>
’Tis their own dear nursery, you know—</p>
<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
Where, quick to the tops of the trees<br/>
They fly, with lightness and ease;<br/>
There each birdie is glad to be<br/>
Perched high upon a big chair-tree.</p>
<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
But to their home in swiftest flight<br/>
They haste, ere day has changed to night;<br/>
Then in they go, with cooing sweet,<br/>
And find their home a blest retreat.</p>
<p style="margin-left: 9em;">
And now they tell just where they’ve been,<br/>
And all the wondrous sights they’ve seen.<br/>
Then with their “coo, coo,” soft and low,<br/>
Each pigeon goes to sleep, I trow.<br/>
<span style="margin-left: 7em;" class="smcap">—Emma G. Saulsbury.</span></p>
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