Pigeon Poem

An ode to the rats of the sky

There she goes

There is no creature quite as round
As the spherical pigeon-bird.

But they catch such flak for being seen
And twice for being heard.

People swear, and children kick
And cause these guys such grief.

When even though they're just grey balls
With leggies underneath.

"Rats of the sky!" the nayers say,
And scream and point and spit.

And all the while the little pidge
Decides to take a sit.

How can you hate these little chums?
As they peck and perch and spin?

And stare into space with little eyes
Which could not conceive of sin?

If anything is like a rat
Granted the gift of flight,

It's the humble bat that swoops and shrieks
In the middle of the night.

But pigeons? No, they're harmless things
They're just here hanging out.

With zero thoughts in little brains
That don't know bloody nowt.

So spare a thought for the pigeon-bird
Next time they cross your way.

And, if you can, please chuck some bread
Or something nice to say.

Because pigeons are like you and me.
Giving life their bestest shot.

But all the while, with a range of thought
That stops with "Huh?" and "What?"

They're stupid, yes. Hell, they're dumb.
I'm saying this with love.

Because it warms my heart to hear the coos
Of the Feral Pigeon, Rock Dove.

Pigeon Gang