A Kakapoem
(Dedicated to all Kakapoes, past, present and future)
I wandered in the summer rain
I saw a bird who looked at me
And so I looked at him again
And he jumped down from a tall forest tree.
And the bird didn't fly off, but walked
And so, that bird and I, we talked.
A parrot he was, and large at that
He strode along the leaf-strewn ground
He looked like Cardigan (without the hat)
And boomed to his mate with a long, lonely sound
He sat in a hollow and made it his own
And looked o'er the valley, his state to bemoan.
The Kakapo just made a sigh;
There's too few left for when I die
Though I boom all day, and though I try
There's too few mates, I say; oh, my!
"A thousand of us once strode here
Until the rats and rodents came
And all of us lived a hundred years
And feared no foe, for all were tame.
But now there's men and sharp-clawed beasts
And for them Kakapoes are well-killed feasts"
"Kakapo", I stand and cry
"Kakapo, why don't you fly?
Kakapo, take to the sky!
Or, Kakapo... you might die."
"My bones are heavy, my wings too small
I cannot leap into the air
Just try and hide among the leaves long and tall
And hide in my long-lost forested lair
For as man has come to these islands here
The Kakapoes have lost out, year by year."
Kakapo, since you cant fly
Let us sit and wistfully watch the sky
As planeloads of humans go cruising by
And the last of the Kakapoes die.