WITH FRIENDS LIKE ME
One frosty day, when the air was still,
I heard a clatter on my window sill.
I found a bird with little life within,
not to give aid would surely be a sin.
His beak was blue and his feet had curled,
he wouldn't last long out in the world.
To my breast I took him in,
and began to restore his life again.
I nurtured him back on crumbs and corn,
to as healthy as the day he was born.
He grew very fast, so plump and fat,
he became my friend, if you can imagine that.
I built a perch for him up high,
so he could watch as things passed by.
Not a cage to pen him in,
that you wouldn't do to a friend.
So not alone at home be stuck,
I'd take him on trips in my pickup truck.
To all my acquaintances that I did see,
proudly I showed the bird with me.
Who had grown new feathers of bright array,
to become a beautiful friend one day.
This story of the bird on and on could go,
but I won't dwell on things you don't care to know.
The passing of the bird I really did hate,
but he was the rooster at Thanksgiving I ate.
Grateful am I that on my window he sat,
and at thanksgiving I said just that.
1986 Hoot Owl Collection