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Jacky Winter

Edward S. Sorenson

Happy little Jacky Winter,
    How I love to see him play
On a, stump, or post, or splinter,
    With his restless tall asway,
And to hear him singing “Sweeter,
Pretty Peter, Sweeter, Peter,”
    By the way.

Turf or tree or fence adorning,
    Seldom is he still for long,
At the first grey peep of morning,
    All around the feathered throng
Hear the busy insect-eater
Singing “Sweeter, Pretty Peter,”
    Clear and strong.

From his post I see him sally,
    And return to wait or preen,
Till the prey wings down the valley,
    Or across the garden green,
Fleet it is, but he is fleeter,
Singing, “Sweeter, Pretty Peter,”
    In between.

Here and there his tune he changes
    To a pert, accusing cry,
And I hear, where’er he ranges,
    “Did, you did,” as I go by.
But anon the merry tweeter
Ripples, “Sweeter, Pretty Peter,”
    From the sky.

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