A Hunters Day
Buzzards are circling, hawks are screaming,
in the backyard crows are tearing into a dead pigeon.
Songbirds are not singing
but watch silently from the hedgerow.
This is a day for the predator's,
a black cat slinks through the trees
looking for a free-range lunch.
As a lad I used to shoot small birds
with a pellet gun,
now I shiver in the noon day sun,
hoping that the claws and razor beaks
will fade away to a place
where children never kill for thrills.
A land where pigeons fly unmolested -
undigested.
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