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