Birds

She's sweet.

It was six men of Indostan
To birding much inclined,
Who went to ogle at the Crow
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

The First was lit upon apace
And swiftly crowned with poo,
Until his bronzy pate was white
as snow, with greenish dew:
"Great Caesar's ghost, this dirty bird
Is very like a Foo!"

The Second, smitten by the beak,
Cried: "Ouch, that smarts, you fecker!
So very round and smooth and sharp!
I am that crow inspector!
This wonder of a woody bird
Is very like a pecker!"

The Third approached the ebon fowl,
And happening to brush
His hand against its feathery wing,
At once began to gush:
"I see," quoth he, "that Heckle here
Is very like a bush!"

The Fourth reached out his eager hand,
And felt about the tail.
"What most this wondrous beast is like
I'd tell you in detail,
But this margin is too small to contain
All that inscribed in Braille."

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the eye,
Sang out, his voice awarble:
"One hand held high, I testify
(and one hand on my yarble):
By all the Avatars, this crow
Is very like a marble!"

The Sixth was wiser than the rest,
As Hindoo sages go.
Quoth he, "No way I touch that bird!
The suicide becomes a crow
And when you touch it, so do you,
And this has laid you low!

And so these men of Indostan,
With one exception, croaked
At their own hands, as foreigners
Looked on and rhymed and joked,
About how foolish they were to think
A crow should not be poked!