One day I took my daughter who was about seven, for a walk on the trails at the Back Bay in Portland, Maine. She was committed to walking the entire way around the bay, which is about six miles. Then about four miles into the walk she wanted to stop. There was really no way to do so. Instead her cleaver daddy wrote an instant poetry abomination that was so disgusting to sing, one could not do so without laughing. So, we changed the final two miles of the walk from a whining pity party to a laugh-a-minute musical march neither of us will ever forget. Welcome to "Birdie Poop "