Birds of a Feather
The day draws on…
A minty morning
Dusting feathers
Pecks at a plum;
I hear your call
Picking at small hopes,
Sowing seeds at random.
Ta-ra-dum-di-dum.
The day draws on…
A jaunty mid-day
Swings on electric line,
Then settles to lunch
On the core of my heart;
Splits wide like pink guava,
Tearing into its lush cauldron.
Ta-ra-dum-di-dum.
The day draws on…
The mauve evening scavenger
Meets the raven of night,
Exchange through beaks
Shreds of my brain,
Proceed to drop bird-poop on
Strips of our cohesion.
Ta-ra-dum-di-dum.
