One night last July,
from a pale sky did fly
to the garden that’s edged by a lawn,
a grey bird of prey
that deigned to waylay
on an urn in the old lily pond.
The hired guy died
when it pecked out his eyes.
And the gardener ran for his life.
The owner’s a goner
while going to warn her –
and that’s how it got to his wife.
You’ve heard not a word
‘bout this curious bird
on the verge of a murderous dawn.
But no one is immune
to its gruesome tune –
and I’ve learned it’s beginning to spawn.
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