Thursday, August 19, 2010


Sunny was a very fat canary
He loved pound cake and all things dairy
The wild birds would gather and chirp in mock
But Sunny didn't care for that cliquey flock
On his sturdy perch he would sit all day
The odd little chirp from his breast would stray
So began a diet, strictly apples and seed
But Sunny's fussy palette over-ruled his greed
His stubbornness however, proved far more effective
Regardless of how, we had reached our objective
From his golden throat sprouts a brand new song
The wild birds struggled to sing along
So nimble was he, hopping to and fro
Too busy was he putting on a show
Too proud to stop for a snack and a nibble
I offered his favourites and the very best kibble
By the following 'noon his song grew weak
By the next morn' there was barely a squeak
I offered some cake but he couldn't be swayed
His glossy black eyes began to fade
I cradled him close and without protest
I watched it sink - his bony breast
His eyes exposed at half the mast
I smile when I think of his jolly past
I lay him down his shaggy plume
And bury him where the dafodils bloom
And every springtime when they sprout
A sunny yellow song they softly shout

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