The Wood Pecker
Once on the stump of a dead tree stood,
A red headed Pecker on wood.
Turning his head from side to side,
Each second to decide how wide
And if his Ra-ta-ta-tat was good.
The wind blew and the chips flew,
Each peck on peck and the hole grew.
He chipped away all that day,
Then on some pretense flew away,
But returned his work to pursue.
And with each drill on wooden core,
Deepened the hole a little more.
I noticed it under a bough,
So little rain it would allow,
This home, this hole without a door.
Then I noted there were two
And watched to see what they would do?
They flew round and round about,
Inspected the hole in and out,
One went in and the other flew.
The rest I'm sure that you all know
A brood of pecker heads did show.