Another photo from Dan Felstead's site.Use the talents you possess,
for the woods would be a very silent place
if no birds sang except the best.
- Henry Van Dyke.
The Best Bird
Who will sing now Cock Robin is dead?
He sang the best, or so they said.
His voice was pure, the sound so sweet
No other bird dared to compete.
When Robin tilted back his head
The wrens all hoped for him to wed
And fought their way onto his bed
Now he lies beneath a sheet.
Who will sing now?
More hearts than his were cut and bled
When the arrow pierced that breast of red.
Dispirited birds were in retreat
None could sing, but only tweet.
He was the best and now he's dead.
Who will sing now?
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© J Cosmo Newbery
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Who fills in for the bird that's dead?
ReplyDeleteIs there another whose breast is as red?
Tisn't the breast that makes the song...
(ask the mockingbird, when he comes along)
But rather the heart that opens readily
and pleases others hearts and ears steadily.
Oh, I'm sorry yon Robin passed away, so.
(probably shot by a jilted lover's arrow)
But maybe strange nests shouldn't have been his
to wander in and attempt to please others Ms.
oh well, lesson learned hard, and that
is how the robin got eaten by the cat.
d=))
ask the mockingbird when he comes along
ReplyDeleteask the mockingbird when he comes along
what the heck do you people think?
That we can't even come up with an original tune?
Do you think all mockingbirds just stink?
Then you should hear us under the moon!
Howl like wolves we can
even sound a bit like a man
or the kicking of a tin can
(OK, maybe not sound like a big brass band)
but, ask the mockingbird when he comes along
ask the mockingbird when he comes along
is really getting to be a tired old song.
(and muffled grumbling as he flies away, we hear...
ask the mockingbird when he comes along
ask the mockingbird when he comes along)
Another great one J. Your poems always have the best rhythm...it actually makes them fun to read and say out loud.
ReplyDeleteBoneman...maybe the Robin found the room with continuous sinning?
Dan
The Robin was munched by a hungry cat
ReplyDeleteThe flesh was eaten, the beak was spat
The wrens wept and beat their chest
But had to settle for second best.
Welcome back.
ReplyDeleteexcellent.
ReplyDeletePerhaps a bluebird will sing for us now? Shoo kitty, shoo!!!
ReplyDeleteHugs and lovely to see you :)
Poor Robin. Will there be a sequel?
ReplyDeleteThe first poem was lovely, the second wittily thrifty. But I do want to hear about who's the next best voice. (Is it sort of like the way the birds switch off when flying in the V formation?)
Senor has a thing about where dead birds go. Thousands of them must die every day, but nary a one appears in his final repose. You might be able to help us out here ...with your uncanny ability to see deep into the heart of the matter. ;)
Sad, poignant... lovely.
ReplyDeleteSo nice to be reading your pearls once again ...
ReplyDelete