Tale of a Tailor.

There's gold in the sun
That powders the earth,
There's din in the trees
Where the sparrows make mirth.
The thrush is a lad
As he struts on the lawn
In the bright speckled vest
He has got out of pawn
From old Uncle Winter,
Who held it “pro tem,”
The starling's new suit
Is a glistening gem
Of ruffles and satin,
And feathered brocade,
A very fine elegant costume indade.
In fact all the costumes are splendid and gran'
And made by a tailor called Paddy O'Pan.