They’re
not gloomy, like crow or raven.
As
twilight falls, just before dark
their
self-confidence is craven.
Jazz
pigeons have invaded the park!
These hooligans in fluorescent suits
are far
too colourful for round here.
In a
hungry cloud they strip our fruits.
Our birds are dowdy, like our beer.
Shocking in their bright green livery
they are hanging around the station
like a
gang of Mods on a bank holiday.
Their raucous squawk is a
provocation.
Who will liberate
the English streets
of these foreign
intruders, the parakeets!
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