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Monday, December 30, 2013

4th Day of Christmas

On the fourth day of Christmas
Four calling birds showed up
Singing songs of the impending new year
And rudely waking me up

Four special calling bird rounds
I loaded into my shotgun
Leaping out my door with a yell
And firing at them one by calling bird one

When the smoke cleared
And let back in the rising sun
I couldn't find any trophy calling birds
Turns out I hadn't hit a one

But now it was quiet all around my cabin
So I crept my way back to the bedroom
Slipping under the covers with my hot French hen
Filling my head with her heady musk perfume

The third day hadn't been bad
And now that those damned calling birds were gone
The fourth has some hope to it yet

These things I thought to myself
With a soft stroke to my French hen and a little light yawn