Now you have to tell me if Spokane prounounced with a soft 'a' as is my recollection. Up in Ontario, I have no way to be sure.

Hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it. :)


Martin Gobbler
To the tune of The Irish Rover

In the year of our lord, Yes two-thousand and One
He escaped from the thanksgiving axe
Through a fence, down the lane, he was soon on the run.
Yes this turkey was sure making tracks.
He was brave, he was bold, maybe just one year old
A handsome, and feisty wobbler
With a yen for a hen he broke out of his pen
And they called him, Martin Gobbler.

With the day growing late at the cemetry gate
He sought freedom away from the road
Round the tombs and the stones, this bird found a home
He had set up his bachelor abode
With his best fluff and jowl he would go on the prowl
No turkey was looking suave-er (grin)
He would cluck any duck in his search for a mate!
And they called him, Martin Gobbler.

There was never a man, 'cross the length of Spokane
Who had had such a terrible plight
This forlorn Turkey-He found not one Turkey-She
Though he sought her with all of his might
Through his best Turkey pride, he pined for a bride
With a lonesome Gobble - sobber.
Then on June Twenty-four he could take nothing more
Broke the heart of Martin Gobbler

There's a Washington grave for this poor cupid's slave
"Your gobble will be missed" reads the note
Not on hot Turkey Soup, but an Urn shaded blue
Is the vessel on which it is wrote.
For fowel or friend, you're cooked in the end
Your tinker, tail or cobbler
Lovers, as you pass by give a prayer, heave a sigh
At the grave of Martin Gobbler


Bo Vandenberg


(dupicate message deleted by mudelf ;-)