For some reason I found it entertaining to read this week’s offering out loud in the voice of an aristocratic Sergeant Major, perhaps with a surname like Ramsbottom de Pippington, or something equally grand sounding. It’s not obligatory, but it is fun.

The pigeon had a complex, one could argue rightly so
His coos disdained on par with the squawking of a crow
His song went unappreciated, in the chorus of the morning
Rocks were thrown from down below with very little warning

He tried his best to stay forgiving, the humans made it tough
He was getting to the point where he’d almost had enough
Silver wings aside, he was practically a dove
Yet all he got was hatred, where was all the love?

His brother and his sister, were baked into a pie
Uncle Jim got his head kicked in, now he couldn’t fly
He was always fleeing pot shots from a muppet with a gun
Who seemed to think it sporting to shoot at him for fun

The straw came in the form, of a catapult and stick
Which hit him in the eye and made him feel quite sick
He retreated to a high up branch, brooded on a plan
Trained a squadron of his brethren and the campaign soon began

They flew to the town centre where the humans were in droves
Did a choreographed display where they looped and swooped and dove
The humans pointed upwards staring open mouthed
Before long they had gathered quite the admiring crowd

When our pigeon was quite sure they had gathered every one
He cooed the order to his squadron to drop their brewing bomb
In startling synchronicity each bird released its load
The crowd cried out in horror as justice was bestowed

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this weeks Sunday rhyme time. If you’re new here why not click on the poetry menu in the sidebar to read more of my scribblings? You can enter your email to receive notifications every time I post. Click the Instagram and Twitter icons to follow me on social media (I have a grand total of three posts on Twitter so far, but that’s still progress).