Arthur Guiterman

It seems that Margaret Widdemer Possessed a Tree with a Bird in it, And being human, prone to err, Thought 'twould be pleasant to begin it, Or christen it, as one might say, By asking poets closely herded To come around and spend the day And sing of what the Tree and Bird did. (Poor girl! When next she takes her pen Some bromide critic's sure to say, "Don't dare do serious work again— This stuff is your true métier!") No sooner said than done; the bards Rush out in quantities surprising, And, overflowing four front yards They carol till the moon is rising; With ardor, or, as some say, "pash," In song kind or satirical, Asking, apparently, no cash, They make their offerings lyrical. I'd be the first a spear to break For Poesy; but this to tackle ... It seems a lot of fuss to make About one Tree and one small Grackle.