FOR THE BIRDS

There was the wise old owl
Who sat in a tree.
He didn't say a word,
Just stared down at me.

He just sat there
Till I said you're an old coot.
Then he turned up his nose,
And gave me a hoot.

Then there's that pretty bird
We call the pelican.
Whose bill holds
More than his belly can.

There's the crow, woodpecker, black bird,
And robin-just to name a few,
And the early birds, wild geese and sparrows,
Who's up while the grass still has a coat of dew.

If one of our fine feathered friends
Should spot you from the sky;
Don't get mad-
Just give thanks that elephants can't fly.

Don't forget the wild canary,
Whose feathers are mostly yellow.
They would make a friend
For any fellow.

Back East there's a bird
That flies as high as a kite.
Every morning he keeps calling me-
He calls Bob-Bob White, Bob-Bob White.

*****

This was another poem that Dad submitted andonly to getit back rejected. As far as I know, he was never interested in the many canaries and couple of love birds that we had over the years.

Anyway, to be honest, poems are tough sales. Even though I never visited his writing class, the poems gave him something to read to the group. And, as I mentioned before, he was getting sicker by the day during the last couple of years of his life.