Saturday, December 13, 2008

Three-Thirty in the Mawnin

Yes, it is.

Odd how Americans are so protective of privacy, but will live in apartments with thin floors and carry on like banshees. I feel like I should be baking "congratulations!" muffins for the folks upstairs. eh... I think it's time for a shack in the woods. Thoreau?

In wildness is the preservation of the world.

I say beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a wearer of new clothes.
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In honor of dark, sleepiness, and good squeezes... A story of a pet bird.


The bird was George De Havilland Grace
Only Grandma knew it

To his friends he was Skippy
and skip he would
Across tables
Down hallways
Over history homework

But Grand knew birds should sing and fly
It bothered her when Skippy would twirtle on by
***Aaaw..rhyming IS better...I'll rewrite this later.***
So, she set out to teach him to bird.

She waved one arm to the left and one on the right
Skippy flapped each of his wings
He looked pretty cheerful and tried to follow
But Grand's waves were tricky
and soon, Skip was skipping

The next day, Grandma began singing lessons
She sang Shenandoah one note at a time
This time, Skippy didn't even try
He stood on the counter, quiet and still

One giant tear slipped from Grandma's eye
In all my nine years, I'd never seen Grandma cry
Skippy looked worried and somewhat contrite
He fluffed up his dander and stood up tall
... And let out the first note of Shenandoah

Only it lingered and cracked like no note scaled
It pierced and it scraped the peaceful, calm air
Pain hit my ears and I closed my eyes
Then, another sound blocked out Skip's cries

Grandma was cackling, laughing out loud
Gripping her sides and kneeling on the ground
Rolling and shaking with giant delight
She said, "Oh, my dear--that bird is a fright."

She patted Skippy on the head,
then winked and skipped down the hallway to bed.


Oooooooooook, this needs work.......back to bed.backtobed.

Aubs

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