Were given names with many words

To describe their color, habits or flight,

And all were named, and named just right.

I’m glad each beast has got a name

And naming’s not my claim to fame,

For I’ll report, and if I’m not wrong,

I’ve a knack for saying short things long.

For, if it had been my job, it’s true,

There’d be a bird called Jay-of-Blue,

And a Big-Red-Bird-With-a-Neat-Black-Cap,

And a Yellow-Feather-Fronted-Sucker-of-Sap.

There’d be a Snake-That-Rattles and a Sparrow-That-Sings,

A Gopher-With-Pockets and a Pheasant-With-Rings.

I’d have a Chucker-of-Wood and a Munk-That-Chips,

And much other nonsense to force past our lips.

Some names would produce misleading yarns,

Like the Little-Bird-That-Swallows-Barns.

But a bird I’d name right now, if I could,

Is the Red-Feather-Headed-Pecker-of-Wood.

I’d have named some turtles for the way that they bite,

But a Big-Cat-Named-Robert just doesn’t sound right.

I’d have Finches-of-Gold and, for what it’s worth,

Big-Black-Bugs-of-June and Pink-Worms-of-the-Earth.

So, count yourselves lucky, as lucky can be

That all of this naming was not up to me.

For try as I might, it would have been worst

If God had put me and not Adam here first.

The Post Bulletin publishes poetry by local and area writers every Monday. Send poems to Meredith Williams at life@postbulletin.com.