SONG CHALLENGE WINNER!

Here's a Challenge! idea sent in by JenEllen -- Gobbler's Gone For Good: Cemetery Turkey Is Laid To Rest - Death Is Not Due To Fowl Play -- (Spokane, WA) When a tom turkey strutted onto a cemetery just before Thanksgiving, people figured he was either a farm escapee trying to avoid ending up the centerpiece of a holiday dinner ir a wild bird just passing through.  But the bird that became known as Martin A Gobbler remained for good, and he hardly overstayed his welcome.  The turkey - eventually determined to be wild - took up residence for seven months, adding unsuspected levity to graveside services.  The gobbler also attracted gawkers who came to see him chase cars in the parkinglot and fend off the ducks who invaded what he considered his turf.  Martin died June 24th, and got a farewell fit for a creature far higher on the food chain.  The bird, believed to be around a year old, was found dead on the grounds with no obvious signs of trauma.  The memorial drew about 50 people and featured an altar, photo, and flowers with an attached note "Your gobble will be missed."  The turkey's cremated remains are stored in a small blue urn in the office of the funeral director while they plan to incorporate them into a monument featuring a bronze turkey statue placed near the office entrance.  The cemetery owner believes Martin's biggest burden in life was his apparent inability to find a mate.  Staff never saw a hen on the grounds, and Martin's flamboyant displays of strutting and pecking car tires were merely for human consumption.  "He didn't enjoy his life of celibacy at all" stated the groundskeeper  "He would get all fluffed up and parade around here like he owned the place.  He was trying to attract a mate and there were none to attract."


Martin Gobbler by Bo Vandenberg
(To the tune of The Irish Rover)

Bo's Comments:  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. :)

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

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