On a table of timber, worn smooth by the years,

Stanley stands proud as the forest appears.
His wings lifted high in a jubilant cheer,
For fall has arrived in the mountains so near.

The leaves swirl around in a fiery dance,
Gold, crimson, and amber—they shimmer, they prance.
The breeze hums a tune through the tall, swaying trees,
And Stanley chirps back with a trill on the breeze.

A moose in the distance, calm-eyed and grand,
Watches the parrot with leaves in his hand.
The mountains rise up in a backdrop so wide,
With migrating birds painting arcs in the sky.

No crumbs on the table, no thermos of tea,
Just Stanley and nature, as wild as can be.
His heart full of wonder, his feathers aglow,
In a picnic of silence where autumn winds blow.