Chickadees

There are all-weather tires and all-weather jackets
All-weather whatever you please,
And those all-weather birds with their miniscule rackets,
Are the ever so clever, minute chickadees.

No weed-seed too hard, no silk too resistant,
They know if its weak point is ventral or dorsal,
To be held down and split, by attack so persistant,
And yield the reward of an edible morsel.

When the dark is so long and the days are so dreary,
And cold winter winds will continue to howl,
There is a companion that always is cheery,
An unfailing, nonrailing, foul-weather fowl.