A Fanciful Poem to My Old Lecherous Rooster
(Please note, I don't really give him booze. The first year I had him, an obnoxious roommate DID, however, and he has never stopped hoping for more, anytime there are adult beverages around.)
Heās eyeinā the hens, a wolf at the moon,
Heart full of mischief and squawkin' a croon,
He cackles and bumbles, a raucous display,
That lecherous parrot, heās sure here to play.
Oh, that whiskey-eyed bird, with his colorful flair,
Spreading his tales through the warm summer air,
Heās a rascal, a scoundrel, a party of one,
A gaze like a sailor, a heart full of fun.
He whispers sweet nothings in a voice gravel-stone,
But donāt be deceived by that raucous tone,
Heās been flyinā high on that rum-soaked delight,
In the twilight of dawn and the echo of night.
Now, he dances on tables, a real jester's charm,
A flirt and a flip, heās raisinā alarm,
But everyone knows heās a soul unconfined,
That parrot makes chaos thatās one-of-a-kind.
So raise up your glass to that raucous rogue,
The demon with spirit, forever in vogue,
A bottle of laughter, a feathered delight,
Except when he's hammered and pickin' a fight.
Heās eyeinā the hens, a wolf at the moon,
Heart full of mischief and squawkin' a croon,
He cackles and bumbles, a raucous display,
That lecherous parrot, heās sure here to play.
Oh, that whiskey-eyed bird, with his colorful flair,
Spreading his tales through the warm summer air,
Heās a rascal, a scoundrel, a party of one,
A gaze like a sailor, a heart full of fun.
He whispers sweet nothings in a voice gravel-stone,
But donāt be deceived by that raucous tone,
Heās been flyinā high on that rum-soaked delight,
In the twilight of dawn and the echo of night.
Now, he dances on tables, a real jester's charm,
A flirt and a flip, heās raisinā alarm,
But everyone knows heās a soul unconfined,
That parrot makes chaos thatās one-of-a-kind.
So raise up your glass to that raucous rogue,
The demon with spirit, forever in vogue,
A bottle of laughter, a feathered delight,
Except when he's hammered and pickin' a fight.
I have been married to the OP here (aka GaleriaGila, aka Gail, aka Abigail) for 41 years. I PREDATE the RICKEYBIRD by an honorable few months! I have managed the bank accounts, maintained the household, kept the car in excellent condition, driven the wife and her darling to countless vet appointments, tolerated decades of 100-decibel insults from said parrot, and carried out a million other husbandly duties... and yet...
AND YET...
I have never had a poem dedicated to ME.
The RB missed ya, I bet!
