Mister Woodpecker, I hear your morning ratty-tat-tat.
So loud and clear up on the pipe on the roof.
I know its you, why is it that you do that?
There are no grubs or insects; no water there.
It’s only metal, not a tree or telephone pole.
Yet you call, and ratty-tat-tat with great care.
Each spring you arrive and begin to start.
Hopping all around that pipe and pecking.
Drumming that same old song with all your heart.
You must have discovered, quite by chance.
That the echoing sound traveled far.
Trying to attract your mate with your song and dance.
Each morning I listen with anticipation.
Soon your mate will hear your ratty-tat-tat.
And three hearts will fill with elation.
Englewood, Colorado 2003
