This is a true story, it happened when I was a lad, working in a shearing shed in the 1940s.

A Brush with a Turkey.

As a lad I worked in a shearing shed
And in the barn we had our beds,
Up steep steps at night we;d climb,
, for a place to sleep it turned out fine,

My home it was not too far away,
So I could visit on week end days,
So off I'd go upon my bike,
Saving me trouble of having to hike,

So when I returned on a Sunday night,
The Stairs I'd climb and be very quiet'
Lest slleeping sheares I did wake,
Then shouted words would be my fate,

This Sunday eve I climbed the stairs,
Little did I know what was waiting there,
For perched right on the topmost step,
Was the biggest turkey gobbler yet,

It was dark so I could not see,
What was waiting there for me,
In quietness I commenced to climb,
So carefully in slow time,

Till at last on highest step,
Self and turkey we just met,
Flapping wings and turkey noise,
Aroused all sleepers as I lost my poise,

With flying feathers we both fell down,
With a thump we hit the ground,
Turkey flimg out the door,
Self lay winded on the floor,

Sheare rs swearing turned to mirth ,
As I lay there on the earth,,
From that night on it was their joy,
To slylely call me “Turkey Boy”.

John W 12/11/03