Well, hello my good friends! A quick tip of the fedora and a great good late evening to you, one and all! Ah, Friday has at long last arrived and yet, it was not the day I looked forward to, but in many ways, it's a day I will long remember and will make me stronger in the days ahead. But, Friday! woohoo! It's come around again and so has our good friend, that crazy, capper to help us lift our spirits high and mighty for the next 48 hours. And speaking of poems, it's brand-spanking-new poem time!!! Remember my dear readers, please tell someone you love them and always, always, always, enjoy!!!The Greatest Revolution In Birdland! (For Jobie Hughes)
Once upon a dream ago
I was a jailed canary bird
Never thought much about flying, just laying eggs and strutting in line with all those other feather-brains.
One day, I heard a young finch's voice, so beautiful, so pure, singing a tune I ain’t never heard before, so I asked this finch where it learned that tune and the finch showed me, note for note, line for line.
I knew something was different, as I felt myself cooing inside, still I had this feeling, I hadn't felt in years.
So I spread my wings and began to fly around my cage, almost clumsily at first, then I got back onto the perch, directly into the line of fire, much to the chagrin of the prison raven's demonic (des) ire.
It was then that I began to sing.
And sing loud and clear.
Sung a song so dear and meaningful, that it rattled the rest of those caged birds, and so it began the greatest revolution in Birdland, that ever ceased to be.
And out of their cages they flew, they strutted, shook a tail feather or two and twittered and tweetered and cheeped and chirped.
And now, I fly and strut and sing on my own.
I looked around to thank that young finch, but it was already gone, flown the coop.
I was glad to have listened, knowing now that I can bail myself out of my nest in a pinch.
Oh! But this finch left me more than an inch, (more like several), still shoveling his poop, with a bag and a winch.
Once upon a dream ago
I was a jailed canary bird
Never thought much about flying, just laying eggs and strutting in line with all those other feather-brains.
One day, I heard a young finch's voice, so beautiful, so pure, singing a tune I ain’t never heard before, so I asked this finch where it learned that tune and the finch showed me, note for note, line for line.
I knew something was different, as I felt myself cooing inside, still I had this feeling, I hadn't felt in years.
So I spread my wings and began to fly around my cage, almost clumsily at first, then I got back onto the perch, directly into the line of fire, much to the chagrin of the prison raven's demonic (des) ire.
It was then that I began to sing.
And sing loud and clear.
Sung a song so dear and meaningful, that it rattled the rest of those caged birds, and so it began the greatest revolution in Birdland, that ever ceased to be.
And out of their cages they flew, they strutted, shook a tail feather or two and twittered and tweetered and cheeped and chirped.
And now, I fly and strut and sing on my own.
I looked around to thank that young finch, but it was already gone, flown the coop.
I was glad to have listened, knowing now that I can bail myself out of my nest in a pinch.
Oh! But this finch left me more than an inch, (more like several), still shoveling his poop, with a bag and a winch.
