One Little Indian Boy

By Joseph T. Manzo

October 27, 2007

They arrive in the morning in the yard that’s mine,

Gregariously playing and having a happy time.

In the beginning of October it’s the nuts they see,

Their green cover turns brown and shows brightly on the walnut tree.

Black and shiny they are, these birds that play;

In Genesis they were the first that Noah sent out on their way.

In Kings God will tell them and they will heed,

There is a man named Elijah that they will feed.

 Poe remembered it was a bleak December as he pined for his Lenore;

And this bird was tapping at his chamber door.

In the sky they ascend to a summit,

Releasing the nut in their talons to plummet.

Upon my concrete driveway the nut will shatter,

Releasing the meat for them to gather.

Leaving my home outside I venture,

Causing them to fly for fear of punishment or censure.

Little do they know it’s their play I enjoy,

Similar to children with the nuts as their toys.

Not minding the mess, I clean up after;

Out comes the boy next door with childlike laughter.

To him he has found a treasure to please,

And quickly gathers all that he sees.

The ebony feathers are worth more than gold;

And will make him a headdress like his ancestors of old.

Early he will be at the school when they ring the bell,

To display the feathers, at show and tell.

It’s easy to see all the pleasure,

Having fun in life doesn’t cost a treasure.

Recounting this chain of events it’s amazing to me,

All the happiness that grows from a walnut tree.

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