John Bannister Tabb

(1845-1909 / the United States)

A Fledgling - Poem by John Bannister Tabb

'Why is it, little chick,' I said
'That you so ragged go?'
'Alas,' he answered, 'father's dead
And mother cannot sew.


'She does her very best to lay,
Till I have learned to crow;
But bread is rising every day,
And eggs, alas, are low.'


Comments about A Fledgling by John Bannister Tabb

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Wednesday, September 1, 2010



[Report Error]