Birds of Nebraska: Newspaper Accounts, 1854-1923

June 13, 1909. Omaha Sunday Bee 38(52): part 4, page 2.

Our Trip to Birdland.

By Frances Johnson, 13 years, 933 North Twenty-fifth Avenue, Omaha. Blue side.

(This poem is based on a recent birding trip by two Busy Bees.)


  • It was an ideal day in perfect May,
  • Butterflies flitted o'er flower-faces gay;
  • Softly shed they their fragrant breath, the sweet apple bloom—
  • While the dainty wild plum wafted fragrant perfumes
  • To a woodland nook where the two girl friends sat by a brook.
  • Perhaps you would have thought their expressions quite glum,
  • But you know not the reason for which they had come.
  • They were very wide awake all the same,
  • And to see Birdville choir was their greatest aim.


  • Ah, what is that? Tread lightly—hark!
  • Is not that the song of the meadow lark?
  • It's he who prefers his larklings concealed
  • In some fragrant meadow, or in some grassy field.
  • Oh, see the thrasher up in that tree!
  • Hear him warble forth his sparkling notes of glee!
  • Did you, as he flew, the oriole behold,
  • With his shining gown of black all trimmed in richer gold
  • Than e'en e'er wore the pagan kings of old?


  • There sits the blue bird, with his back of velvety blue;
  • Ah, who could wish to see a more brilliant hue!
  • Not e'en the one who has seen the Vesuvian bay, so blue;
  • Not e'en the one who has had of some clear Swiss lake a view.
  • Then there was somber cat-bird, with his medley of notes,
  • While in the swamps there were scores of Maryland yellowthroats.
  • Amid the dandelions the friends espied swarms of gold finches,
  • And it would be very hard to decide
  • Which was prettier, Mr. Wren or his plain but pretty bride.


  • The swallow was next on their program to see,
  • As he dipped through the air so swiftly and free.
  • Once they thought an old oak on fire,
  • But soon perceived 'twas cardinal in his most gorgeous attire.
  • This, of a sudden, was the conversation to be heard:
  • "Oh, look over in that cottonwood, pray, what is that bird?
  • Did e'er you hear such a mysterious squeak?"
  • "Ah, dear friend, that's the rose-breasted grosbeak!"


  • Then they saw Mr. Woodpecker, with his conspicuous apron of white,
  • And his cap, all gemmed in rubles, presented a most brilliant sight.
  • Now my pen will stop for this time,
  • For fear the Busy Bees tire of such a monotonous rhyme.
  • But let me say, just one more thing,
  • That those songs in my ears re-echo and ring;
  • For, besides I, the other one was—don't you know who I mean?"
  • It was Myrtle Jensen, our former sovereign queen!"