Glue trap hunting

The mentality of the French
One has to realise how mean
Creation gave us song birds
To enrich each vital scene
To encourage and to appreciate
The loyalty they possess
To caroll us with their raptures
And ofcourse seek, no redress

Their originality
Their genuineness aFoot
Their ideosyncratic notions
And where they have been put
Soaring in the heavens
Briefly in the sky
Casting off as sentinels
Fleet of foot and eye

The pet trade
Breeds insignificance
Among its human souls
Who mess about with nature
The uneveness of roles
Useage of the glue traps
The defective thoughts of man
Fulfilled it seems by capturing
The immature that plan

To produce chaotic bedlam
A disunion lets say
A madhouse in the treetops
A scramble all the way
Blackbirds and thrushes gamble
Warblers too, yes they
Are caught up in the stickiness
And will die there come what may

The cruelty is awful
Having wings to fly
And being forced to remain stuck
In glue perchance to die
The French pet trade is sinful
Its freakishness its plain
The numbers left to perish
Are honestly insane

Song birds are a gift of life
Of honest melody
An utter absoluteness
A partnership that be
Heraldic and angelic
In a multitude of ways
Fragility and transience
That honestly displays

And so the supreme court
Of France declares
That it can beCarried
Carried on regardless
Across many a tree
Glue applied I am mystified
By the illogical display
Of malevolence from judges
Who have clearly gone astray

Its appears we are at a lateness
In the humility of life
The winged ones have such beauty
And we fill their day with strife
And all for so called human beings
To consciously believe
They have the right to maim and kill
Song birds and then retrieve

Their pretty little bodies
Their beating hearts that slow
All their tiny little wings
Flying too and fro
Singing to the heavens
With a gLorious refrain
Let the bastards murder them
Which fills my heart with pain