A Meadow Lark
I went outside to embark
On a search for a meadow lark
I went to a pasture tall
To see if I could hear his call
And indeed I heard him there
And saw him as the grass grew bare
With his black bib and puffed up breast
A little like a quail at rest
He searched for some little bugs
As the quail sometimes does
With seeds often eaten too
Every bright afternoon
And just like that the lark was posted
With his yellow breast there boasted
Singing out his friendly call
To the quail and them all
And from high he came down
To another pasture ‘round
And resumed his hiding there
With an occasional call declared