A little late, but this goes with my last post. I found this silly poem I wrote one year to the birds feasting on the persimmon* tree:
Twas the day after 12th night… (and all through the house, not a creature was stirring…etc.)
But out on the *tree my eye caught a fluster,
I sprang to the window to see a great cluster…
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but flickers and waxwings (no nary a deer).
As hungry as eagles the coursers they came,
They ate, and they called to each other by name.
A dip of their bills and a bob of their heads,
Soon gave mates to know there was nothing to dread.
They were dressed all in feathers from tails to their beaks;
some spotted, some colored, but all of them sleek.
They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work,
So many arrived for this ripe fruity perk…
From the top of the tree they flew over the wall,
now dash away, dash away, dash away all!
But I heard them exclaim ‘ere they flew out of sight,
“Merry feasting to all… more persimmons tonight!”
CCM with apologies to CC Moore.