Bachman's Warbler

"My luck is always bad”, he said

one morning over his skim latte.

“I don’t know what it is about me.

I waited for months to visit Boston and

then spent the weekend sick in bed”

And I said, “Bad luck? Bad luck?

You don’t know bad luck, let me tell you.

Bad luck is the Bachman’s Warbler,

that’s bad luck. Had a memorable song,

a high, sweet trill among Georgia pines.

Died out completely in the 1930s. Or

so they thought. Then nine years later,

birders foundBachmans, a pair of them,

a few miles fromeach other. Heard that

fine “trrree, trrree” song once more. So 

they shot them both and called it a day.