In Europe, all the feathered friends
get ready when the summer ends
to fly themselves to Italy,
away from winter misery.
A flock of sparrows soon were packing
their luggage for the lengthy trip,
one sparrow though was clearly lacking
the energy, he meant to skip
the annual, exhaustive flights.
He also was afraid of heights.
The tribe took to the air at dawn
but Cedric offered a big yawn,
went back into the empty nest,
convinced his choice had been the best.
Three weeks into the frosty days
young Cedric felt a strange malaise,
no matter how he fluffed each feather
he could not stand this icy weather.
Reluctantly, he waved good-bye
rose up into the freezing sky.
But, as he passed a local farm
he noted with renewed alarm
that both his wings were icing badly,
he moved them faster, trying madly
to get the circulation going.
Meanwhile his fears were quickly growing.
His efforts were to no avail,
he dropped just when a bit of hail
came from a cloud devoid of charm
and landed hard, inside a farm.
Near death he opened burning eyes
and saw, to his extreme surprise
a cow who wandered slowly by.
When she was close she dropped a pie
of mushy, brown and warm manure.
It was salvation. soft and pure.
His frozen blood thawed in a flash
and he felt fine inside this mash.
His voice returned, he sang a song,
though this, decidedly, was wrong.
A cat who happened to be near
said to herself 'What have we here? '
She dragged the sparrow from the pie
and, with great pleasure, ate the guy.
The moral, if you're up to it:
Someone who drops on you some shit
ain't by necessity your foe.
But she, who offers you a hand
may never qualify as friend.
And most importantly, if you
are to your ears in bovine poo,
keep eyes and ears and your big mouth
closed tightly, else you must fly south.
This one took me down, up, then back down again, Herbs! It's partner piece to your donkey number of yesterday in the sense of unexpected twists of fate. As for your message here, young Mr Pertillar has sung it all already. Love, Gina.
Herbert, I snese several images of thought here. One must not take for granted one's place nor one's salvation and from where that aid may come. Some criticism may lead one to realize one's place in life. AND if one wants to be accepted in places adventured into...it is best to go along with what is being done. L
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Herbert, what delightful cautionary tale. Very witty! I especially loved the warm poo! Love, Alison