Posts Tagged ‘robin’


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Less rain falling here.  The sun is starting to part the clouds.  Still a little under the weather.  But overall … things are looking up, especially when I see baby birds taking baths in a roadside puddle and chance upon beautiful music like the following.  Enjoy. 😉

Kevin Olusola’s Lovely Hip-Hop Cello Rendition

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Do you know the story of Who Killed Cock Robin?  I was reminded of the tale (and of this photo taken years ago) while visiting with family this past weekend.  My uncle told a tale of growing up in rural Virginia, in the ’40s I believe, and of being infatuated with little speckled sparrows.  One day, he had a grand idea.  To capture a sparrow and make it his own.  And how would he do that?  Well, he chose a mouse trap as his device with bread crumbs as his bait.  The bird was of course caught and the bird was of course killed.  As for the connection to robins …

For years afterward, his sister, in the way of older siblings, found a unique way to mess with her little brother when he was getting on her nerves.  If he was getting too big for his britches, she would simply start reciting that poem about the murder of a little bird.  “Every time,” my uncle said with a chuckle, “Every single time, she had me in tears.”  And then he began to recite:

Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the sparrow, with my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin.
Who saw him die?
I, said the fly, with my little eye, I saw him die.
All the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing
When they heard of the death of poor Cock Robin,
When they heard of the death of poor Cock Robin.

Who’ll catch his blood?
I, said the fish, with my little dish, I’ll catch his blood.
Who’ll make his shroud?
I, said the beetle, with my little needle, I’ll make his shroud.

Who’ll toll the bell?
I, said the bull, because I can pull, I’ll toll the bell.
Who’ll dig his grave?
I, said the owl, with my little trowel, I’ll dig his grave.

Who’ll be the clerk?
I, said the lark, if it’s not in the dark, I’ll be the clerk.
Who’ll carry the coffin?
I, said the kite, if it’s not in the night, I’ll carry the coffin.

Who’ll bear the pall?
I, said the wren, both the cock and the hen, we’ll bear the pall.
Who’ll sing the psalm?
I, said the thrush, as she sat in the bush, I’ll sing the psalm.

Who’ll be the parson?
I, said the rook, with my little book, I’ll be the parson.
Who’ll be chief mourner?
I, said the dove, I’ll mourn for my love, I’ll be chief mourner.

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