Author Unknown

There's a plump little chap in a speckled coat,
And he sits on the zigzag rails remote,
Where he whistles at breezy, bracy morn,
When the buckwheat is ripe and stacked is the corn:
"Bobwhite! Bobwhite! Bobwhite!"

Is he hailing some comrade as blithe as he?
Now I wonder where Robert White can be!
O'er the billows of gold and amber grain
There is no one in sight--but hark again:
"Bobwhite! Bobwhite! Bobwhite!"

Ah! I see why he calls; in the stubble there
Hide his plump little wife and babies fair!
So contented is he, and so proud of the same,
That he wants all the world to know his name:
"Bobwhite! Bobwhite! Bobwhite!"

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