Forgotten

WEEKEND IN BLACK AND WHITE

http://blackandwhiteweekend.blogspot.com.au/

FORGOTTEN

Once I drank from this very glass;

Now I write of it in rhyme.

But, blow me down, my mind's blank! 

Where was I at the time?

I peer into the liquid depths,

And there, in the very middle,

Are all the shadowy shapeless shapes

That should help me solve this riddle.

But, though I squint through narrowed eyes,

The picture is unclear.

The time and place still elude me!

I've simply no idea!

*

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 THE RESCUE

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.

*