miyako73
02-04-2014, 04:05 AM
Of all, that ruby-throated is the bloody one;
It is actually red not the rare expensive gem.
She pretended a nightingale to a mean hawk;
When he could not sleep and needed a song,
She could not sing a bit, so he slit her throat.
I do not really like that purple-chinned, a snob;
A prostitute’s daughter will never be a queen.
I heard from someone who did know her father-
He was a swallow, an aerial acrobat in a show,
Where her mother did burlesque and cabaret.
That violet-bellied has a nice story, a tragedy
Fit for the big screen-not the birdcage, I mean.
She once gave her heart to a travelling bunting,
Who died suddenly and whose dark lilac feathers
She plucked and stitched them on her belly skin.
The color that white-necked wears is deceiving;
In bird lingo, it only means she cleans her @ss.
Some said her parents left her, but others said
A gang of eagles murdered them-oh, poor virgin;
Last time I heard she dated this bad boy, a kite.
Be careful with that blue-headed-she is crazy;
She thinks she owns the sky and the bluest sea.
She had a huge argument before with a parrot,
Who repeated: "roses are red, violets are blue";
She attacked him and those lowly flowers too.
That horny green-breasted is very interesting;
Paid sex for tree planting is her green activism.
I saw her work with big sizes and many breeds-
They queued for body check and for their turn;
She charged those guys a hundred seeds a hop.
Look at that busy yellow-backed-hers is love
Unparalleled in our kingdom of claws and beaks.
She used to be a singer, poet, and loyal lover
To a handsome finch, a soldier hit by a sling-
She began tying ribbons the day he was gone.
As for me, the black-eyed, not a bird gossiper
But storyteller, I am only a keeper of our myths.
Yes, truth did hurt; I got pushed and punched.
I got these bruises on my face, around my eyes,
For spreading their secrets I just cannot keep.
Miyako
(c) 2/3/2014
It is actually red not the rare expensive gem.
She pretended a nightingale to a mean hawk;
When he could not sleep and needed a song,
She could not sing a bit, so he slit her throat.
I do not really like that purple-chinned, a snob;
A prostitute’s daughter will never be a queen.
I heard from someone who did know her father-
He was a swallow, an aerial acrobat in a show,
Where her mother did burlesque and cabaret.
That violet-bellied has a nice story, a tragedy
Fit for the big screen-not the birdcage, I mean.
She once gave her heart to a travelling bunting,
Who died suddenly and whose dark lilac feathers
She plucked and stitched them on her belly skin.
The color that white-necked wears is deceiving;
In bird lingo, it only means she cleans her @ss.
Some said her parents left her, but others said
A gang of eagles murdered them-oh, poor virgin;
Last time I heard she dated this bad boy, a kite.
Be careful with that blue-headed-she is crazy;
She thinks she owns the sky and the bluest sea.
She had a huge argument before with a parrot,
Who repeated: "roses are red, violets are blue";
She attacked him and those lowly flowers too.
That horny green-breasted is very interesting;
Paid sex for tree planting is her green activism.
I saw her work with big sizes and many breeds-
They queued for body check and for their turn;
She charged those guys a hundred seeds a hop.
Look at that busy yellow-backed-hers is love
Unparalleled in our kingdom of claws and beaks.
She used to be a singer, poet, and loyal lover
To a handsome finch, a soldier hit by a sling-
She began tying ribbons the day he was gone.
As for me, the black-eyed, not a bird gossiper
But storyteller, I am only a keeper of our myths.
Yes, truth did hurt; I got pushed and punched.
I got these bruises on my face, around my eyes,
For spreading their secrets I just cannot keep.
Miyako
(c) 2/3/2014