"Tshirr!" scolds the oriole
Where the elms stir,
Flaunting her gourd-like nest
On the tree's swaying crest:
"May's here, I cannot rest,
Go away; tshirr!"
"Tshirr!" scolds the oriole
Where the leaves blur,
Giving her threads a jerk,
Spying where rivals lurk,
"May's here, and I'm at work.
Go away, tshirr!"