Downy Boy
I think if I were with wings
I would not be affiliated
With the pileated
His fiery, flamboyant red
His constant cackling
Nor the crow
A know it all
Nor the red-tail hawk
Again
Always having to squawk
And I feign to diss
Their purpose
Their ways are just not for me
And I'd be hard pressed
To find a bird that's best
Perhaps the Downy
Not too showy
Just a tad of red
Common and looks like a miniature hairy
Of which I am not
Often mistaken for a
Sapsucker
Who drill the parallel
Holes in living trees
To feed on sap that
Drips so gewey
Or perhaps a turkey
But not a Jake or a Tom
Always looking for some
Oh, just little, quiet
Downy!
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