The Sandpiper by Celia Laighton Thaxter. Part 2 of 2. I watch him as he skims along, Uttering his sweet and mournful cry; He starts not at my fitful song, Or flash of fluttering drapery; He has no thought of any wrong, He scans me with a fearless eye. Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, The little sandpiper and I. Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night When the loosed storm breaks furiously? My driftwood-fire will burn so bright! To what warm shelter canst thou fly? I do not fear for thee, though wroth The tempest rushes through the sky: For are we not God’s children both, Thou, little sandpiper, and I?