THE COCKATOOS There were cockies by the hundred in the old oak’s lofty limb, And their mealtime was a mêlée as the evening light grew dim. For they chomped with grand abandon in the forest of the leaves, And an avalanche of acorns rained around these raucous thieves. Now it seemed that table manners had been long ago forgot As the noisy winged marauders sought to eat the bloomin’.
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