Thou Art Not Common

I oft shooed thee as bird of barest brain, No, ye do hide behind some talent rare, Should a rare hand nurture ye to train, Thine sense of shades I doubt any may share. It is thine knack human commands to heed That makes thee a bird of a choicest breed, Thou ‘lone, O angel, canst call a Monet From a Picasso, Peace pigeon, prized pet! It was when I saw a huge flock of thee Taking off from the ground at a command, Swirling soon in a formation to be, Showing off skills in flight, and to soft-land, Thence to trap birds of rival fleet—what treat! I know ye deserve discerning diet— Of dry fruits and pure Indian ghee— a bit Rich may it look — a long-corn and millet. I never knew doves could be trained to tell A human voice or whistle, and many A hand gesture to return safe and well To base, until I did thine talent see. Thou hast the measure of magnetic field Of Earth, to have a sense to know at best Thine place in space with the power ye wield, And to return spot-on to place of rest. Those eyes hast more colour cones than us, That thou canst see three times as many shades As humans, making ye a bird so precious, A pigment marked seldom from thine mind fades. O thou, a perennial guest of my house, I'd not shoo thee away- now that I know Thou art not like that pesky pest, the mouse; Yet hygiene's good habits ye ought to show! And ye make every corner, every niche In my house, and thine nesting place, a rage, Thine maternity home all so hellish, But, pray, a house is no home of garbage! It's odd, we call thee a common pigeon; Such rare credentials can't make thee common. For nesting home, O thou a homing bird: What made ye leave trees to like human herd? ______________________________________ ________________ - Reflections | 03.01.12