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The Aviary
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NEWSLETTER
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F E E P
by Antonia Stampfel
This article originally appeared in SQUAWK, the newsletter of the Big Apple Bird Association and is reprinted with permission.
This poem is dedicated to Cockatiel owners.
I try to keep his wings clipped,
But the mischief doesn't stop.
He now goes underneath things
Since he can't fly up on top.
He's underneath my sofa
He's underneath my feet
He's underneath my table
Yelling, "FEEP! FEEP! FEEP!"
Oh somewhere there's a cockatiel
Of feminine design
Who wonders "Will I ever meet
the boyd who will be mine?"
I'll say, "Don't worry, sugar,
You could find him in your sleep.
He's underneath my table
Yelling, "FEEP! FEEP! FEEP!"
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The Aviary ©1996. All rights reserved.
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