THE PURPLE MARTIN
The purple martin he is great,
Now that's a bird mosquitoes hate,
Because a martin eats them up
With open mouth just like a cup.
He swoops and attacks on the fly
Then sails up high in the sky.
He's as graceful sailing as anything
And sometimes scarcely flaps a wing.
The scout flies north in early spring,
And begins his house-hunting fling.
He like one high upon a pole
Where cats can't climb, he's not their dole.
He'll then return to meet the rest
And escort them back to build the nest.
The martin stays 'til near the fall
Then south he flies at nature's call.