The Birds On the Farm

Ten years ago, there was a cock Who lived up to his name. For though he left us all well-fed, He left the yard in shame. Replaced was he by one who was A very silly goose. That goose got cooked; he cooked himself; A danger being loose! And with him was a vulture, And that vulture sure was mean. He swooped down, getting us in war that plucked us all quite clean. I could not rest until the two of them Were good and gone, Praying I’d not have to watch That grey goose on the lawn. Another - grinning, wrinkly-necked - On TV bobble-bobbling, Paced with worn-out rhetoric He was fond of gobble-gobbling. And by him was his sidekick,, Female version of a “Quayle.” I hoped inside the white barn that chick would never dwell. The other bird, a darker fowl, “said” he didn’t want a war. He was called by some a “chicken" But at least cared for the poor! So for November’s bird He was voted on one day - The turkey that was chosen Before Thanksgiving Day. Two years have past and nothing's changed The same old cuckoo song. And I don’t see a good bird yet To even come along. How sad there’s no bird like the one who from a forest came, Then presided in the white barn. Now a statue bears his name. Like an eagle, symbol of this stretch of land was he. But since his time, few birds have flown much higher than a tree. It’s geese and quails and chickens and turkeys growing here while people on this vast great land are filling up with fear. I'd hoped our newest turkey were an eagle in disguise, and that he’d get to take us soaring into bluer skies. For how much longer can our farm keep running all amuck, in which case we’re all better off electing Donald Duck! For Nate Dilt's "I Hate Politicians" contest