The Feathery Pride
THE FEATHERY PRIDE
Of the prettiest plumage
High and proud he stood
Of others of his sex
He mixed not
For thought him to himself
Inferior they were
All day long
To and fro he trotted
For a sight to behold
He thought himself
Every now and then
Would his call come
Attention of fair sex
Trying he to seek
On a cold windy night
When all was quiet and calm
Came two pairs of legs
And over the fence crossed
With Stealth
Like ghosts out on revenge
Towards the shed they went
Into it darted a hand
Coarse and firm
And a grab of him
Was made
Over the field
Across the stream
Off took his captors
And into the hills
On the ‘morrow
Out of the sack he came
And two rough looking men
He beheld
An hour later
His bones
All around were strewn
Picked clean of flesh
Should you stop
On your way to the other side
His bones still
Will you see
Bleached white
With none to claim them
And so ended the life
Of our proud feathery friend
A meal of him was made
© 2018 omololu dare