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."


The Lanes of the Graveyard by katlaughing
(To the tune "Streets of Laredo")

As I strutted down in the lanes of the graveyard
As I plucked and preened a fresh for my Queen
I spied some odd twolegs all wrapped in white linen
With others a'sobbing as they laid him in a grave.

I came here a'looking for a mate to have fun with
My feathers I spread as the limos rolled by
Amongst all those bipeds there's got to be someone
Of redlegs and wattle, so I can be wed.

I've found some friends, who feed me, stand gawking
Every day, more come, hear me gobble to say
"Have you seen my dear pretty, the one I shall marry?
Oh, surely she'll come at the end of this day."

Alas, the stones turned cold, my gobbling softened
Depression set in, for two-legs weren't enough
At last, late at night, I lay myself down
Lay down in sorrow and gave up my ghost

Now it is said, in the late days of twilight
If you go a'walking near gobbler's old haunt
You'll see his bronze statue with ashes before it
And maybe hear a faint little gobble or two.

For no one had told him, the dead cannot give him
Much else but a silent applause in his search
No raising of turkeys, redlegs or white ones
They've all been covered and buried with dirt!

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