Monday, March 28, 2011




Nature's full of wondrous ways that war against free-will.
A Mother bird is always drawn toward a yellow bill.
This sight, which leaves us unaffected, attracts her like no other!
She is compelled to flutter up, a tired worm-laden Mother.
The baby birds show no respect; they screech and nip and peck
Inside her beak , devouring her and leaving her a wreck!
'How odd!' we say 'That birds behave in such a curious way!
If human children behaved like that there would be hell to pay!'
Ah, but they do! When they are born we're utterly bewitched.
We even cope with crying, which is fearsomely high-pitched!
The baby may be ugly, with a newborn colouration,
But parents stand and worship it with utter adoration.
From that day on it rules us, it's beak open ever-wide
And we're forever popping little morsels deep inside!
For eighteen years we cherish it, though it consumes the nest;
With every little thing it does we're crazily impressed!
So never criticise the birds for we are just as bad.
(To understand this poem you must be a Mum or Dad!)

To the tune of 'Red Sails in the Sunset'


I'm Red Shirt the scarecrow!
I'm not a real man,
But I've got a purpose,
To do what I can.
The children have placed me
Out here at their school,
The little birds see me
And think I'm a fool!
My job is to flutter
Swing round in the breeze
Though people may mutter
'The poor thing hasn't got knees!'
I'm Red Shirt the scarecrow!
And I play my part
While standing so proudly!
A real work of art!

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