The Birthday King
- Ross Boulton
- Jun 11
- 2 min read
A Military Parade
By Forest Moss © 2025
One June morning, seventy-nine,
Rooster Goldcrest preened his feathers fine.
"Today's the day!" he chirped with glee,
"The Army turns two-fifty—but it's really about me!"
He summoned Crow, his press bird keen:
"Make this the grandest ever seen!
Sixty-six hundred troops in line—
For the Army's day (which is really mine)!"
Fox News chirped from tree to tree:
"Historic! Patriotic! Totally free!"
(Though squirrels whispered, ledgers pressed:
"Forty-five million—at taxpayers' behest.")
The General Badger, stars gleaming bright,
Saluted smartly: "Yes sir, right!"
(But muttered low to Colonel Hare:
"Birthday parties? Is this warfare?")
Young Eaglets fresh from flying school
Were told: "Parade formation—this is cool!"
(They'd trained for rescue, trained to heal—
Not birthday cake with armor steel.)
Mayor Beaver cleared his throat:
"Perhaps a smaller, festive note?
The potholes need—" "SILENCE!" cawed the bird,
"My birthday trumps your every word!"
Professor Owl from History Hall
Adjusted spectacles, stood tall:
"In Rome, when Caesars threw such games,
The empire fell to Vandal flames."
But Goldcrest wasn't listening well—
He'd found a shiny, new lapel.
"Look! A medal for today!
I'll pin it on myself, hooray!"
Old Lantern Owl coughed once, twice:
"Self-decoration? That's not nice.
In armies proper, medals earned
By service given, lessons learned."
"Psh!" scoffed Goldcrest, puffing chest,
"I serve myself—and I'm the best!
This parade proves my devotion
To military-birthday promotion!"
As June fourteenth dawned at last,
Goldcrest's great moment came to pass.
Tanks rumbled down the forest lane
While protesters sang freedom's refrain.
He watched from golden perch on high
As jets wrote "HAPPY" in the sky.
"Perfect!" he squawked with pure delight,
"I am magnificent! So right!"
But Forest Journalist Raccoon
Scribbled notes that afternoon:
"Crowd looked sparse despite the sound—
Many seats with no one found."
The bill came due: a hefty sum
For tanks and jets and martial hum.
While schools lacked books and bridges fell,
Goldcrest rang his birthday bell.
That evening, tired from his show,
He asked young Robin: "Did you know
How wonderful my party was?
The best—no, really—just because!"
But Robin, wise beyond her years,
Said quietly: "I had some fears.
Real kings throw parties like today—
And real Americans don't play."
The forest fell to thoughtful quiet.
No more parades, no more riot.
Just creatures wondering, one and all:
"Does democracy still stand tall?"
Epilogue
Years later, when the forest grew,
Young saplings asked: "Is that tale true?
Did one small bird with gilded wing
Really try to play at king?"
Old Lantern Owl, now bent with age,
Turned slowly to that future page:
"Dear child, remember what you've heard—
Democracy dies with one proud bird."
*No moral needed here, you see—
The story speaks quite naturally.*
See more satirical fable like this at:
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