Pigeons

Seven feet of the greenest bush
And in the midst their sits
A pigeon she has built a nest
Of twigs which clearly fits
The purpose without cement or glue
Just her natural building instincts
Propped and laid it’s true

She, may have two babies
Big babies too you know
And they must just not topple out
And everyday they grow
She has to feed them
Tend them
A mother is supreme
And there they are
Inside the bush
Safe and every gleam

Of sunlight, I wakes their psyche
Creates In them so much
Fledglings learning how to fly
How to stay in touch
How to hunt how to be
Surviving on their own
This miracle is in this bush
Which very few have known

She chose this bush, our bush
It’s close to our house
For she knew
We live the wild life around these parts
So really very few
It’s a wondrous sight for our eyes
It’s nature’s vibrant way
Of giving back something to life
That others take away

The babies they were very weird
Like dinosaurs but small
They were blind and looked it
But could hear their mothers call
She was a tireless parent collecting
All day long
Treading through the litter
For insects she was strong

She fought her way into the bush
Her wings collapsed as she
Really pushed on through the twigs
With so much certainty
A mothers life is hard what ever earthling tribe
The are
They suffer patriarchal crap
But really are the star

Performer in the living life of babies
Really they
Work their feathers to the bone
Every sodding day
Whilst the father probably is flying off somewhere
Chatting up the pidgy birds
Or skating on a reedy stream
Completely lost for words

He did his thing and now he flies
Around the countryside
Forgetting his two babies
And if asked it’ll be denied

The pigeon boys look happy
Soon no doubt they will
Fly off to some other bush
And of course get their fill
Of insects on a summers eve
Or whatever else is there
And mum will have to soak up all
The ongoing despair

A brief look at the pigeons
And how they thus provide
An ongoing future for themselves
Puffed up and feeling pride
No prejudice to speak off
Wood pigeons yes they are
A long drawn coo is what they do
And really are the star

Performer in the countryside
Plump their collars white
Really seen as game as ever
And shot which isn’t right
Every soul that lives the wild
Should be protected by
Human beings with a heart
Not thinking of a pie