There once was a little grey, black and white bird
(the noisiest creature that you ever heard).
He lived in Lush Haven and his name was Tim,
and every two seconds, he chirped on a whim!
Now Timmy was funny and clever and cool,
but he never stopped twittering - not even at school!
He talked over his teachers and chatted in class,
and his non-stop chirping was a pain for the ass.
Nobody could ever hear themselves think -
not the pig or the cat or the slug or the fink.
No matter where or with whom, he just never quit…
Because Timmy was a talkative little tit!
Timmy missed out on all sorts of things;
the lessons at school, the cricket who sings.
“I’m having a party and I’d like you to attend!”
said Robbie, his red-breasted robin friend.
But Timmy was chattering away and he didn’t hear…
so he missed the cake, the fun and games, and the cheer!
He never listened to the babbling brook
or really heard the story, when his teacher read a book.
He missed out on wisdom and jokes and information,
because he never shut down his communication station!
But even more annoying than his constant chatter
was how he made others feel like they just didn’t matter…
He interrupted their stories every single time,
with a story of his own, or a chirp or a chime.
And he never asked questions about anyone else;
the talkative little tit only spoke about… himself.
One day Timmy’s friends planned a camping trip.
There was Cray-Cray and Robbie and slippery Slip,
and Sally the sparrow and Arnie and Paul,
Tom the cat and Ziggy and all!
“Shall we invite Timmy?” asked Sally the Sparrow.
“No”, said Arnie, “I’ll shoot straight as an arrow -
that bird talks one heck of a lot
and we want peace and quiet at our camping spot.”
“You’re right” said Slip, “let’sss not invite him.
Ssssometimes he’ssss so noisy, I jussst want to bite him!”
“Well alright then”, said Sally, “we’ll leave him behind…
Oh, I really hope he doesn’t mind!”
When Timmy flew by and saw they were packing,
he asked what they were doing, but his manners were lacking
so he didn’t wait for a single reply.
He just carried on chatting about what, when and why,
and so come the next morning when he went around to play,
nobody was home, not even Cray-Cray!
He saw Cray-Cray’s uncle, a crabby old bugger,
and said: “have you seen Cray-Cray or Sally or Slugger?”
“No”, said the crab, “I ain’t seen them at all,
nor Arnie or Tom or Ziggy or Paul”.
Timmy searched high and boy, he searched low,
but he just couldn’t find them - where did they go?
He saw Sally’s neighbour, who was a blind old bat.
“Do you know the whereabouts of Sally or Tom the cat?”
“They’re camping,” said the bat, “they seemed quite excited!
But don’t tell the tit - he wasn’t invited.
They wanted peace and quiet all weekend,
so they left behind their noisy little friend.”
Well Timmy was shocked, by what he had heard
and for the first time ever, he didn’t say a word.
He just flew away, quiet as could be,
across the meadow, past the old oak tree,
down to the orchard and up past the stream,
where he came across his uncle, Uncle Kareem.
“How are you my child?” asked the old bird,
and waited for the answer, but none was heard…
“Why so quiet, Timmy? It’s so unlike you…
Are you ill? Are you sick? Do you have the flu?”
“No” said Timmy, “I’m doing okay…
I just feel sad, because my friends went away.”
So Timmy told him all about the big trip,
with Sally and Slugger and Arnie and Slip,
and Ziggy and Cray-Cray and Tom and Paul,
and how they didn’t want to invite him along, at all.
His uncle listened and then said with a smile:
“Why don’t you perch quietly over here for a while?
You can stay and have some lunch with me –
I’ll make us a pot of Owl Grey tea!”
Timmy perched on the branch and kept quite still,
but he felt like he was swallowing a very bitter pill.
His beak began to quiver, he felt the rise of a tear,
but then a funny thing happened, he began to hear…
He heard the gentle breeze, rustling through the leaves,
and the sound of the weaver at work, as it weaves.
He heard little dogs barking, and young kids at play.
He heard a wolf howl, and a horse neigh!
He heard the cow that moos and the cricket that sings.
Oh, he heard all sorts of wonderful things!
When his Uncle returned with lunch on a tray,
Timmy ate, and sipped tea, with not much to say.
But when lunch was done and he felt good as new,
He turned to his Uncle and asked: “how are you?”
His uncle spoke about his health and his morning,
but then changed the subject and gave Timmy a warning.
“It’s important to listen, Timmy, my boy;
constant chatter does tend to annoy!
Learn to hear your teachers, family, and friends -
and maybe you’ll be invited on those camping weekends!”
“Thank you,” said Timmy, nodding his head.
“I listened to every word you said.
I’ll try to remember not to talk all the time,
or interrupt other creatures with a chirp or a chime!”
The next day his friends came back from the woods
with their tents and backpacks and other tiny camping goods.
And while they were unpacking, young Timmy flew by,
but instead of being noisy, he seemed a bit… shy.
“Did you have a good weekend?” was all that he said,
and then settled on a branch and cocked his head.
His friends were astounded that Timmy was so quiet.
They were expecting to come home to a yackety riot.
At last Timmy spoke. He said “I’d like to apologise.
The events of this weekend have opened my eyes
and I guess you could say, they also opened my ears!
So I’m sorry my pals, my friends, my dears!
I’d really like to be a better friend,
so please tell me all about your camping weekend!”
“Well, ok,” said Sally, “it was quite delightful,
although the wolf calls at night can be rather frightful!”
Timmy listened with both ears as they all shared their tales
of the campfires and the marshmallows and the cold ginger ales.
He laughed and asked questions and let them all speak
about the wolf calls and the night stars and the cave and the creek.
He felt a little bit jealous, but it also felt good
to hear about the fun his friends had had in the wood.
And when they’d told their stories, they all felt great
because it’s always fun to share your experiences with a mate.
“We’re going next weekend, to the very same spot,”
said Arnie the Ass, “and we’d like it a lot,
if you packed your backpack and torch and tent
and we all go back, to where we just went.”
I’d love to,” said Timmy, “it sounds fantastic!
And I promise I won’t be little Mr Bombastic!”
From that day on, Timmy’s whole life seemed to improve.
It was like the needle on the record just hit the right groove.
His friends liked him better, his teachers were impressed.
He felt happy and popular and (hashtag) blessed!
And it was fun to hang out with him – everyone concurred -
since the talkative little tit became the bird who heard…
THE END
