Once Bittern twice shy
They dance to the tune of the reeds
These wood wind musicians of the sky
They play like the reeds their throat song
They beat the bull frogs at their own game
In time they sing along
Like a jamboree
All the same
They do impressions of Bulrushes
Standing plant tall and straight
And what do they want of paint brushes
When streaked brown and white they wait
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