There's so many wacky people
Some say that I am one
If its true what they are saying
Then let us sing a wacky song.

It's not a Crime to be wacky
Sometimes it can amuse
Wacky can make one happy
Such a tonic and that is true.

There's many ways to be wacky
With the things we say and do
It starts when we get chatty
With those crazy words we use.

Some people seem so serious
No wackiness in there lives
But they are not oblivious
To the wacky world outside.

So if many of us are wacky
And it cannot be proven wrong
Then let us get together
And we all can sing along.

listen to the babble of the cool mountain stream
and the morning birds singing from the evergreen

the keeper's yellow canary dwelt in her cage,
          her smooth, silky feathers untouched,
    tucked gently to her sides,
as she listened to the soothing quivers of her own beating heart.
and when came morning,
her joyful song echoed all around,
illuminating even the darkest shadows
of her beloved keeper's heart.

but alas, the day had come:
      the keeper left the gate unhinged.
it beckoned freedom,
   whispered chances,
and with a ruffle of those dainty wings,
the keeper's yellow canary
fled home.

days, weeks, a month had passed,
the keeper waited for her return
       searching for a glimpse of yellow,
              the only color he had truly known,
hopeful,
    but afraid
his heart has found another home.

and then, come nightfall,
he saw the bird under his window
  the perfect feathers he once knew
        were torn and mangled,
stained deep red.

he lifted her
and cradled her broken wings in his palms
until they were whole again.
and then he placed her gently in her cage,
sealing the gate forever.
vowing never again
     to let her taste her freedom.

A little copper penny
Lying alone on the sidewalk

Rained on, stepped on, walked right by

No one cares about a penny
What could it possibly buy?