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| Coco Puff's ready for Christmas ... |
... as is Nikki Bird! |
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A Visit From St. Nikki Bird By John Geary (with apologies to Clement C. Moore) |
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T’was
the night before Christmas, and all through the coop, Not
a parrot was stirring, cleaned up was the poop. The
food dishes were hung by the cage doors with care, In
hopes that St. Nikki Bird soon would be there. The
birdies were nestled all snug on their perches, Sharing
visions of birdie treats, perhaps some toy birches. And
Ma in her jammies, and I in my shirt, Had
just settled down, after cleaning their dirt. When
out in the air there arose such a clatter, I
sprang from the nest to see what was the matter. To
the window I flew like a Scarlet Macaw, Tore
open the shutters and gazed out in awe The
moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave
a cockatoo-color to objects below. When
what to my wondering eyes did appear, But
a huge aviary and eight flapping Lear's. With
a feathery driver so lively and gay, I
knew in a minute, it was an African Grey. More
rapid than Conures, his coursers they came, And
he whistled and shouted and called them by name, “On
Coco, on Merlin, on Gypsy and Sweetie, On
Gizmo, on Peaches, on Zacky and Tweetie, To
the top of the cage, to the top of the wall, Now,
flap away, flap away, flap away all!” As
woodwork that before bird chewing it flits, When
beaks meet an obstacle, and turn it to bits, So
up to the housetop, the parrots they flew, With
a cage full of toys and St. Nikki Bird, too. And
then, in a twinkling, I heard like a saw The
scratching and pawing of each little claw. As I
drew in my head and was turning around, Down
the chimney St. Nikki Bird came with a bound. He
was covered in feathers from his head to his feet, And
his mantle was covered in poop mixed with sleet, A
bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And
he looked like a vulture, just set to
attack. His
eyes, how they pinned, just waiting to tweak, His
cheeks were white-feathered, his nose, a sharp beak. His
droll little mouth made a face at the poo, And
the fluff on his chin was as white as a ’too. The
stump of a chew toy he held tight in his beak, His
head feathers raised, and formed a small peak. He
had a broad face and a round little gut, That
shook, like a birdie before a pine nut. He
was chubby and plump, a right jolly old sprite, And
I peeped when I saw him, to make him feel right. A
wink of his eye and a flap of his arm, Soon
gave me to know he meant me no harm. He
made not a squawk, but went straight to his chore, And
filled the bird stockings with goodies and more, And
raising his wing and giving some peeps He
flapped a few times, then up the chimney he leaps, Then
pranced to his cage-sleigh, gave his team a wolf-whistle, And
away they all flew like the down of a thistle, But
I heard him squawk out, e’re he drove out of sight, (First published in 2002, © John Geary) |
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