Doggerelitis

I feel that i must be suffering from an undiagnosed disease For my lust for writing doggerel i never can appease And call it doggerelitis or call it what you may But I'm about to write another doggerel today. A warm day in Summer with only the faintest breeze And crimson rosellas chirping on the sunlit garden trees The beauty of their colours a poet might well describe But with the more enlightened I've not been classified. The frail looking eastern spinebill his bill is thin and long Is chirping on the fuschia he seems bereft of song But i have heard him singing on cool evenings in Spring And the bird may look attractive but not the song he sing. The day is warm and humid close to thirty degrees And you must dab on repellant to keep off flies and bees You drink to replace body fluids and you constantly perspire And in such humid conditions you find you easily tire. The coarse song of Asian mynas the mynas are not rare I have heard of them referred to as 'the cane toads of the air' And why some people compare them to the cane toad i have often wondered why? Perhaps their range expanding and their numbers multiply. From the subject of the matter i have somehow seemed to stray But then i am a poetaster and poetasters are that way And my lust for writing doggerel i cannot seem to appease Some call it 'Doggerelitis' it's a terrible disease.