Four And Twenty Blackbirds

Oh, I will sup on parrot meat tonight
Sauteed, perhaps, or fricaseed, or raw;
I hardly care, for I will gladly bite
No matter what; just let me finally gnaw
On that damn bird, and I will deal with feathers,
Bones, beak, and claws, I hardly care at all.
With every high-pitched squawk my conscience weathers
And very soon I will not hear its call.
Then there will be a parrot dead and gone,
Another bird plucked and consumed for dinner.
I cannot let it see another dawn
For one of us two must emerge the winner
And so it will be me. This bird will die
Perhaps I'll simply bake it in a pie.