The Farmer's Wife And The Birds

Early one spring day, as the sun marched into the sky,

a flock of feathery wrens fluttered to a farm.

With cheerful chirping, they landed in some brush

and wove a city of nests, cozy and warm.

Farmer Milo frowned at the shabby piles of brush

as he planted his corn in neat and tidy rows.

He did not care for such visitors encircling his field.

So he grabbed a cart, his leather gloves, and hoe.

With fresh determination, Milo set to work,

pulling the first stubborn, thorny pile from his land.

But in a frantic whirl, a wren circled in the air,

swooping down to slow his sturdy hands.

Milo ignored the bird until Ida, his wife, shouted, “Stop!”

She said, “Please do not disturb the little wrens.

Spring is here; their nests are filled with chicks.

Let them raise their young and sing their songs again.”

Milo muttered at Ida’s sympathetic request,

but to please her, he let the piles of brush remain.

So the wrens once more flitted and chirped,

while Milo carefully tended to his growing grain.

As summer passed, other farmers often wandered by.

They liked to joke a bit about Milo’s brushy nests of birds.

When they left, Milo would gripe and grumble and groan,

but he still followed the wishes of his wife’s gentle words.

At last, the days of summer stepped aside for fall.

Suddenly, every farmer began to grumble and complain.

Hordes of flying insects attacked their golden harvests;

and nothing escaped the insects’ hungry reign—

except for Milo’s fields. His abundant acres shimmered in the sun. He asked Ida, “Why haven’t hungry insects stolen my treasure?” She guided him across his fields and pointed to the wrens. They were devouring the buzzing pests with greedy pleasure.

Ida said, “You do have messy piles of brush everywhere you look, but your kindness has been rewarded by families of helpful birds.” “I am a fortunate man indeed,” Milo chuckled and agreed. “I not only have a clever wife; I’m smart enough to heed her words!”