Wednesday, November 20, 2013
November 15 was the day, to work I was going,
A chill was in the air, but pleasant, no snowing.
Walking I was, to the door from my car,
Hungover I was not, despite a night at the bar.
In the distance I heard it: tea-kettle tea-kettle,
This bird song to some, can test one's mettle.
To me, however, I knew, the tiny singer by name,
This song I've heard for decades, no change it's the same.
A Wren from the south, down the Carolina way,
You'll see him on a quarter, when debts you pay.
With colors so warm, and eyestripes so bold,
For a few brief moments, I forgot the cold.
My camera I grabbed, my 400 lens, so big,
I approached the bird slowly, as he sat on a twig.
This way and that, he bounced, sallied 'round,
All the while he made song, that tea-kettle sound.
A descent Wren photo? Lets see what I can do,
Close enough I was, I froze, a statue.
With aperture wide open and woods so far,
A pleasing blurry backdrop, no clutter to mar.
"Click " went the shutter, it went again "click" "click",
He posed for me, so proud,on his little wooden stick.
Before long, he was bored, to the woods he went,
Fine by me, I told him, my memory card, spent.
At home now, on my machine, at the pics, I look,
Most, I say "eh", but many I took.
One caught my eye, of so many I missed,
His tail seemed gone, his face set to "pissed"
He seems to say...
Hey, you suck. Dump it. That rig.
I stood here in the open, on my little wooden twig.
You saw me, I posed, with a body so brown,
The best you could do? You captured my frown!
And what of my tail, I have one, you know,
Learn to take pictures, to classes you go.
Our chance meeting, that morning, yes, it occurred,
Your picture? You blew it. You, sir, are a turd....