| 'Tis not that Dying hurts us so-- |
| 'Tis Living--hurts us more-- |
| But Dying--is a different way-- |
| A Kind behind the Door-- |
| The Southern Custom--of the Bird-- |
| That ere the Frosts are due-- |
| Accepts a better Latitude-- |
| We--are the Birds--that stay. |
| The shiverers round the Farmers' doors-- |
| For whose reluctant Crumb-- |
| We stipulate--till pitying Snows |
| Persuade our Feathers Home. |
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