suggested the illustration
Saint Francis, quite austere in stone,
Stands in the local park, alone,
Hands outstretched and face benign,
Features both austere and fine.
And, suddenly, a pigeon lands
On one of the slender, outstretched hands.
Then more come flocking from the sky,
Attracted from the blue on high.
They float and fly and flaunt and flutter……......
But, suddenly, there is a mutter;
‘Birds are nasty, messy things,
So much more than beaks and wings.
Tomorrow, this statue will be smeared,
Wherever the pigeons have appeared,
With nasty droppings they have made.
Worse than graffiti, I’m afraid!’
Thus speaks the Lord Mayor, with great pride;
‘It’s time those wretched pigeons died!
Tomorrow morning, I decree,
The local park will be set free
From nasty, filthy little birds.
We’ll shoot the lot! You mark my words!’
The Lord Mayor sleeps both long and deep,
Dreaming, in his mayoral sleep,
Of slaughtered birds lying all around
And mutters ‘Dead birds on the ground.’
But, in the morning, goodness me!
What a wonderful sight they see!
Little birds, now turned to stone,
No longer things of flesh and bone,
Nestling, safe from every harm,
In the crook of a saintly arm.
Hands..... no more outstretched....... caressing,
And giving each bird an eternal blessing.
Oh! To be a fly on the wall when other folk are chatting!
I wish I knew what it was all about!
These friends of mine may merely be discussing art or tatting,
But what if it's scandal and I'm missing out!
Yikes. I certainly hope the Lord Mayor doesn't curse me.
I adore the last two lines of your St. Francis piece. Really lovely. Snd as always, I enjoyed your attention to meter and rhyme. Your work is so lyrical.
wonder revision/vision of the story.
Wonderful revision of the statue to thwart that miserable mayor!
Kay, Alberta, Canada
An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel
I love coming here to read your work and this one is no exception. Beautifully done!
Enjoyed this a lot. =)
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