Pheasant Present*

(For illustration purposes only... not my actual pheasant... obviously.)



What a present
Was the pheasant
I did glimpse upon this morn.

Not a peasant
Of a pheasant,
He, so regally adorned.

Til’ now I had
But seen him at
The far side of the pasture.

The bushes and
The fences had
Obscured his noble stature.

But on this day
He came my way
And stood there in the sunshine.

Mere feet away
His fear gave way
He scuttled for the tree line.

For my presence
To this pheasant
Was to surely be construed

As not pleasant
For the pheasant
But, a plan to make him food.

So effort he
Did make quickly
To end up not under glass.

How could he know
I would not go
And eat his fine, plum'd carcass.

Cam’ra in hand
Across our land
I searched through garden and trees

I did intend
To show, my Friend,
The pure glory that was he.

To write a post
For those, at most
Whose number has surged to three!

Not how to roast
Or even toast
But share his unique beauty.

But at present
My dear pheasant
Is a hidin’ in an a tree.

Seems the present
Of my pheasant
Was a gift saved just for me.

*Disclaimer:
Yes, I am aware this composition is a syllabically-rhythmic train wreck. I'm no poet, but as I was tramping around in the grass trying to find said purty birdie, this started rattling in my cranium so, I thought, "What the heck? Why not open myself up to a whole new reason for folks to point at me and laugh, 'eh?" I say,"What better way to start a Monday?!"...

... Except, of course, for going out to the garage to get some bread yeast outta the fridge and seeing a freakin' gorgeous bird hanging out right outside the window!

Very, VERY cool!


Happy Monday, Y'all! And enjoy that belly laugh at my expense. Really. I don't mind a bit!