‘Twas the Night Before Christmas (Bird Count That Is)

Twas the Night Before Christmas
(Bird Count that is)
by Henry Lappen, Amherst, Massachusetts

‘Twas the night before Christmas (count that is)
when all through the dark
not a creature was stirring
not even a lark.

The stockings were hung
on their feet with care
in hopes that real frostbite
would not settle there.

The birders were quiet
listening for owls
filled up with coffee
which gurgled their bowels.

And Jan in her kerchief
and Scott in his cap
were straining their ears
to hear any yap.

When out in the field
there arose such a clatter
we sprang from the forest
to see what was aflutter.

When what to our wondering
eyes should appear
but a miniature flock
of eight tiny Killdeer.

I got out my camera
lively and quick,
I knew in a moment
I must have a pic.

More rapid than eagles
the birders all came
and they whistled and shouted
each calling a name.

They’re buntings. No, warblers.
They’re swallows. No, grouse.
They’re Mallards. No, nightjars.
Or maybe titmouse.

To the tops of the trees
the birds flew away all.
Oh dash it! Oh darn it!
Did you hear a call?

As varied opinions that before
no proof will fly
the arguments of birders
will mount to the sky.

They’re sparrows. No, bobwhites.
No, alcids. You dolt:
They were Black-headed Gulls
in second-year molt.

And then in a twinkle
we heard from the air
a trilling or chirping
or something unclear.

As we drew in our heads
and were turning around
down to the clearing
they came with a sound.

They were all dressed in feathers
from head to their foot,
they were dark as if tarnished
with ashes and soot.

A bundle of speckles
they had on their breast
their belly and shoulders
but not on the rest.

Their eyes-how they twinkled,
their mandibles-how pale.
Their cheek patches brownish,
not much of a tail.

Their dull little coverts
were brown like the wing
and their backs and their heads.
They had no eye ring.

They were chubby and plump
all filled up with berries
and also from composted
maraschino cherries.

A wink of an eye
and a twist of a head
soon gave us to know
we had something to dread.

They sprang to the air
to our team gave a whistle
that sounded as raucous
as an incoming missile.

But we heard them exclaim
e’er they flew out of sight
many starlings to all
and to all a good flight!

This poem is from an email that was forwarded to me. Mr. Lappen Thank You for writing this poem. To all I wish you a Merry Christmas and an Happy New Year.