Night Before Christmas .... Budgie Version
I have been posting this poem here for decades. Time to refresh and bring it out of storage again. Original posting was Dec 24, 2005
The Night Before Christmas . . . .Budgie Version
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the flight,
not a feather was stirring, not even a mite.
The hens were all nestled on top of their eggs,
While visions of clutches danced in their heads.
And budgies on perches, and keets with full crops,
Had just settled down, and puffed up their tops.
When out in the hall there arose such a clatter,
that I sprang from one leg to see what was the chatter.
Away to the bars I flew like a flash,
Opened both eyes and landed with a crash.
The light on the ceiling went on with a glow,
And we were all bug-eyed, adjusting too slow.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a hand with five fingers, a little too near.
With a motion that threatened, so lively and faster,
I knew in a moment it must be my master.
More rapid than eagles his curses they came.
And he whistled, and shouted, and called us by name.
Now, DUSTY! now, DEWEY! now, BROWNY now, JAKE! On, STORMY! on,
SUNNY! on, BALDY! and SNOWFLAKE!
To the top of the cage!
To the top of the wall!
Now fly away! fly away! fly away all!
As feathers that before the beating wings fly,
When they meet with the skirting, spread far and wide,
So up to the ceiling the budgies they flew,
Followed by the master with intent to pursue.
And then in a moment, I heard in the salon,
The prancing and scratching of each little talon.
As he put out his hand and was ready to bound,
Down from the bookcase we came with great sound.
He was flustered and stressed, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all covered with dustballs and poop.
A butterfly net he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a hunter about to attack.
His eyes -- how they wrinkled!
His forehead how wary!
His cheeks were all flushed, his nose was all sweaty!
His lips were all pursed, drawn up like a bow,
And obvious he was, not enjoying our show.
The stump of a broom on the walls he did tap,
Then behind the furnishings he waved an old sack.
He poked and he prodded with every odd tool,
But we were as quiet, as kids in God's school.
Closer and closer he came to our shelf,
And I chirped when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A blink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know we had plenty to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled up his net, in spite of our jerks.
And laying the net, beside our cage door,
We knew that we would be free, never more.
He sprang close the door, gave a sigh of relief,
Inside we then flew, expressing our grief.
But I heard him exclaim, as he turned out the light,
I hope you had fun, now please go Night Night!
.
The Night Before Christmas . . . .Budgie Version
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the flight,
not a feather was stirring, not even a mite.
The hens were all nestled on top of their eggs,
While visions of clutches danced in their heads.
And budgies on perches, and keets with full crops,
Had just settled down, and puffed up their tops.
When out in the hall there arose such a clatter,
that I sprang from one leg to see what was the chatter.
Away to the bars I flew like a flash,
Opened both eyes and landed with a crash.
The light on the ceiling went on with a glow,
And we were all bug-eyed, adjusting too slow.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a hand with five fingers, a little too near.
With a motion that threatened, so lively and faster,
I knew in a moment it must be my master.
More rapid than eagles his curses they came.
And he whistled, and shouted, and called us by name.
Now, DUSTY! now, DEWEY! now, BROWNY now, JAKE! On, STORMY! on,
SUNNY! on, BALDY! and SNOWFLAKE!
To the top of the cage!
To the top of the wall!
Now fly away! fly away! fly away all!
As feathers that before the beating wings fly,
When they meet with the skirting, spread far and wide,
So up to the ceiling the budgies they flew,
Followed by the master with intent to pursue.
And then in a moment, I heard in the salon,
The prancing and scratching of each little talon.
As he put out his hand and was ready to bound,
Down from the bookcase we came with great sound.
He was flustered and stressed, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all covered with dustballs and poop.
A butterfly net he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a hunter about to attack.
His eyes -- how they wrinkled!
His forehead how wary!
His cheeks were all flushed, his nose was all sweaty!
His lips were all pursed, drawn up like a bow,
And obvious he was, not enjoying our show.
The stump of a broom on the walls he did tap,
Then behind the furnishings he waved an old sack.
He poked and he prodded with every odd tool,
But we were as quiet, as kids in God's school.
Closer and closer he came to our shelf,
And I chirped when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A blink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know we had plenty to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled up his net, in spite of our jerks.
And laying the net, beside our cage door,
We knew that we would be free, never more.
He sprang close the door, gave a sigh of relief,
Inside we then flew, expressing our grief.
But I heard him exclaim, as he turned out the light,
I hope you had fun, now please go Night Night!
.