My husband is a budgie breeder; I find it
hard to say,
He goes down to his birdhouse and stays most of the day,
Blues and greens, greys, Opalines and such
I can see quite plainly, he loves them all so much.
The radio must play all day, they like a
A heater keeps them nice and warm morning night and noon,
Other breeders come along to give him sound advice,
I meet their wives and, really, they all seem very nice.
Often when it is dinner time I just have
But, even then, I find he just will not come out.
There is one consolation- his birds are the feathered kind and
At the bottom of the garden he is never hard to find.
Written By Joan Farr