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I found an ounce of sense today,
In a cafê in Listowel;
A taxidermied bird-of-prey
Was staring into my bowl.
He looked very universal
In his full plumage and preen,
As he blessed us with appraisal
From the vacant T.V. screen.
There were no knobs to switch him on,
Or switch him off where he'd flown
The mountainy 'reeks' near Brandon
Or the jigsawed meadows mown.
Blue tits fill the evening pine
With their needle-ing sounds of joy;
That gape-ing hole that watch' us dine
Is a silent harmless toy.
Oh! what a novel sentiment
There gazes out of empty space,
His shuttle-cocked impediment
Will salvage the human race.
People eating their morsels there
With their grámhar homely talk,
Don't put a tooth or split the hair
With grand-father T.V. hawk.
His perch was high and mighty
Where the song-birds flew with fear,
Shadow upon the sun, thrifty,
And a question mark his ear.
But now he grips on the bare-wire limb;
On the channels one and two.
His 'tee’ and his 'vee’ is a silent hymn
And his view a double 'u'.
The news upon the screen was sad,
Got more sad every day.
'Good-Woman-Of-The-House' got mad,
And plugged-in the bird-of-prey.
The coffee now and sandwiched talk
Are playing their peaceful role,
The view a gazing without a squawk
In that cafê in Listowel.
Copright © 2003 Donal Na Gréine
  
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