Classic Poem

The cuckoo is a merry bird,
He sings as he flies,
He brings us glad tidings
And tells us no lies.

He sucks the birds' eggs
To make his voice clear,
And the more he cries "Cuckoo'
The summer draws near.

The cuckoo is a lazy bird,
She never builds a nest,
She makes herself busy
By singing to the rest.

She never hatches her own young,
And that we all know,
But leaves it for some other bird
While she cries "Cuckoo.'

And when her time is come
Her voice we no longer hear,
And where she goes we do not know
Until another year.

The cuckoo comes in April,
She sings a song in May,
In June she beats upon the drum,
And then she'll fly away.