The Night Before Christmas . . . .Budgie Version

toucanldy@aol.com · Guest

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, PERKIN! On, STORMY! on,
SUNNY! on, BALDY! and KRISTIN!
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!

Regards