The birdy twist

[Nestor Carigno]

The birdy twist
a story by Burt Warbler

Once there was a boy,
that kept the hooky-hook day on the sun-way
all up-a-head and into the glam-jam,
until one day he felt that there must be
something mistaken.
And so he asked himself, if he had forgotten
something...
on the way up and down the hills.
When he finally rounded-up and criss-crossed down
the list of all the mighty and brighty things he had ever done,
he came to the point, where only one answer was left in the basket:
being a bird.
*bab* became his new brandmark
and he began to see it echoing all over his strangely shifted path.
First, there was a sparrow,
that followed him all his way home,
only to wait on the door,
till he came out again,
to give him a few braid crumbles.
Then, he saw all kinds of birds
flying and gliding and swirling
colorfully through his dreams -
even those, he had never seen before!
Birds!
One after another went on
to visit him in his waking life too,
as if he was wearing bird-magneticing,
invisible equipments.
What a hicksville!

To be contiuned...

[Nestor Carigno]

What Burt never occurred
was a thing quite absurd
it was a situation when
he woke up believing to be a hen.

So he went throught the day
picking the grains and scratching the clay
he dreamt from his uncle the dinosaur
and felt this would go on for evermore.

But next awakening was being a tit
and things accelerated quite a bit
from this to that and winds and sun
to dreams of a bat, from echos he stun.

To be continued...

[Nestor Carigno]

The Cirl Bunting Hunt

Richard was a mocking-bird,
so, as rich as is the word
he barbed, he jibed, he facked and shammed
that ev'ry other bird was damned.

When Rick was mocking in the yard
everyone was on their guard.
But one bright morning, wary-sturdy,
"What a melody! And what a birdy?"

"So sweet and vary, i have to confess...",
Richard stunned and stayed voiceless.
It couldn't be mocked, nor imitated
to see this singer, he eagerly waited.

All birds joined in searching briskly-frisky,
despite of the melody, no singer to see.
But finally, at the fence, found by the merl
in a whirl of dust, just brown and tiny sang the cirl.