A pheasant calls its pleasant pheasant call <br />Beautiful to its Lady <br />This peasant peacock <br />Struts its stuttered strut across the garden <br />Steady stepping slow measured steps <br />Followedbyaraceacrossthegrass. <br />The Lady Hen moves meekly mildly after <br /> <br />This strangled Pavarotti of the long grass <br />Crowcalls his pompous self <br />Importance, magnificent bumptious bird. <br />Napoleonic sense of style, <br />In cockade coloured collar <br />Like barricade badge on such a noble neck <br />Your Lady Hen follows out of sight, as your Royal commands <br /> <br />I know you Mr. Pheasant, I meet you every day. <br />You are the Office Bully <br />You are the Club Bore <br />You are the Chain of Office <br />You are the Blazer Bugger <br />You are the Fourpenpocketperson <br />You are the Badge Bearer <br />You are Through the Chair <br />You are Out in Front <br />Is that your wife behind <br /> <br />I see you Mr. Pheasant, I know your pompous play <br />In you we see ourselves, <br />You make us all look stupid everyday <br /> <br />Across the garden now beneath the birdfood <br />You peck your lordly selfish portion, <br />Chest out, head back, all colours blazing. <br />Your Lady Hen still follows meekly to the fare <br />Lady Marian to your Will Scarlett, humble, <br />Dressed in the muted magnificence of Motherhood. <br />Loud Lord and Lovely Lady, a salutary pair <br /> <br />Martin Swords, September 2007 <br /> <br />******************************************* <br /> <br />You need to be familiar with the poise and mannerisms of <br />Pheasants to know just how pompous and arrogant they <br />appear, and how they look like people we all know. <br /> <br />There are many many Pheasants, and pheasant-people <br />here in Wicklow, Ireland, and elsewhere!<br /><br />Martin Swords<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-pheasant-calls/
