The letter arrived two weeks late
and when it arrived it remained
upon the porch step for two more.
If only it'd not been delayed.
The letter was wrapped up in parchment
that felt like freshly spun corn.
In a hand well practiced and fine.
On paper the colour of dawn.
The news of the letter was plain.
Coming straight to the point to be heard.
Unlike this poem.
Oh all right.
It was about a bird.
Not a colourful bird.
No exotic, extravagant bird of paradise that thinks that all other birds want to be like it but can't.
Just a budgie.
The budgie belonged to their aunt.
The aunt was one whom others would call,
eccentric or just plain potty.
But she know how she wanted to live her life
and cared not if they thought her dotty.
She wanted to get rich quick one day.
So formed the perfect strategy
and made a fortune from rubber ducks,
then left it all to her budgie.
Her relatives weren't a greedy bunch
but felt they were due a small share.
They'd cooked and shopped and cleaned for her.
They thought they'd been treated unfair.
They went round in their anger.
And told her what they thought.
They vented all their fury,
and left her quite distraught.
"Well," she said, "if that's the way,
you really want to play it.
That letter that I sent to you
I'll null, void and unsay it!"
"What letter Auntie? When was this?
We've not received a missive.
True, we've recently moved house
so don't be so dismissive."
"Moved house, you say, well thanks a bunch!
You didn't let me know.
I sent that letter one month past!
Begone. Get out. Just Go!"
And what was in that letter sent?
Well written and not smudgy.
I think you've guessed what's coming next.
She'd left them folks her budgie.