Little tawny thrush
why so jumpy? Spring has not sprung.
And you have certainly known before now
the cats that live here-this pride.
Silly sparrow, 'twas all made up
those felines would not know what to do
with you-yet how they do like watching
all the twitching
you do.
Look over here! Cackles rise,
this tweet and grub dash,
fidget and dart,
you cool hearted busy birdy,
on holiday.
The cat sees your ploy-a quick dip
in the fountain-this one couldn't care,
he laughs a hoarse then licks his nails.
Oh, this little bunting
gets behind his pinprick hot holed ears
and says-or chirps-
POTUS, po' po' us, po' us another
wergle fumpus, with yellow belly feathers, like a lilly livered loiterer,
tethered to others, such as the not so rare big-billion-billed cuckoo,
Who, who, who knew-
how to flap in place.
Polly-ana-cracker-barrell-of-monks like these-
Just look at that jittery pulpy face,
ask, just ask, he is fluffed and full of flock
puffy and inflated on a fence takes no flight
path to escape,
the last words were purr-purr
after the cat
finally got his tongue.
Painting by Louis Émile Pinel de Grandchamp [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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