The Find

I took a reed and blew a tune, And sweet it was and very clear To be about a little thing That only few hold dear.

Three times the cuckoo named himself, But nothing heard him on the hill, Where I was piping like an elf The air was very still.

'Tw'as all about a little thing I made a mystery of sound, I found it in a fairy ring Upon a fairy mound.

June 2nd, 1917.