I'm mad that Mrs. Albatross
Is lounging in my head,
She's waiting for her sleeping mate
Who won't get out of bed.

They stayed up late, 'til after four,
And played games in my mind,
I didn't sleep a wink all night
But they had a good time.

It's bad that Mr. Albatross
Suggested I was sick,
And sadly his sweet wife agreed
And worried I'd die quick.

Not feeling well, I tossed and turned
While those birds tortured me,
They even planned my funeral
And wrote the eulogy.

With bleary eyes I met the dawn
And saw I was alive,
The torment of those bird brained fools
I hoped I would survive.

And suddenly it came to me
An old poem that I knew
About an Ancient Mariner
And the albatross he slew.

He was alone out on the sea,
That bird tied round his neck,
Abandoned even by the saints,
Like me, he was a wreck.

And then he glimpsed some gleaming fish
Who swam in God's great sea,
He raised his voice in joyous song
In praise of all that be.

"He prayeth best who loveth best,
All things both great and small
For the dear God who loveth us
He made and loveth all."**

That sailor prayed and he was freed,
His debt to God was paid.
So like that sailor in the poem
I praised what God had made.

Mr. and Mrs. Albatross
Were put off by my praise,
When they no longer caused me pain
They left, both in a daze.

**The quoted words and the paraphrased poem
used in my poem are the work of
Samuel Taylor Coleridge: "The Rime of the
Ancient Mariner"

© 2008 Joyce Greene (All rights reserved)