The cuckoo's a fine bird,
He sings as he flies;
He brings us good tidings,
He tells us no lies.
He sucks little birds' eggs,
To make his voice clear;
And when he sings "cuckoo!"
The summer is near.
Nursery Rhyme. Ccccxcv. Natural History
Unknown
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Poem topics: summer, bird, voice, good, clear, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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