The Ballad of A Dead Pigeon

Who really cares when a pigeon dies,                                                                                                  who saw the pain in the poor pigeon’s eyes?
Who will attend the reading of his last chirp and testament, what would his last crumb have been if he could of requested it.

Feathers quite ruffled but claws intact,
who knows what far away lands he travelled to and indeed travelled back.


Unexplained Pigeon death is certainly on the rise, I saw a look of intent in the neighbour’s cats eyes.


Days upon days the body still lays, now cold
Wings cocked in salute so noble and bold,
Breast protruding proudly displaying so much self-worth for such a down trodden and poorly represented bird.

Along comes the road sweeper to sweep sweep away, at dawn whilst birds in nearby trees cheep cheep away.

No hats have been tipped there's no march or procession, the neighbour’s bad cat hasn’t signed a confession.

No flowers are lain not even a reef

Just a feather,


wedged into that naughty cat’s teeth.





David, TCC