Peacock
By Grannyrosie
PEACOCK Strutting his stuff, all over the place, Stopping frequently, to admire his face, Preening his feathers in the window glass, Then busily digging sweet morsels from grass. There on parade, entourage so fine, he and his ladies, look divine, Flying onto the rooftop tall, Delivering his chorus, a pitiful call. In molting season, I cant believe, The numbers of feathers, he seems to leave, Beautiful eyes, of green and blue, Staring from feathers, so wondrous to view. Come the weather for mating time, By then his tail feathers, so sublime, His mating dance, not perfected yet? Or are the girls playing hard to get? He must have been busy last season I see, With all of the chicks, that run from me, Thus, king of the castle, creature of beauty is he, And vain as a Peacock, that's what he does be. Written January 4th, 2002 © on Jan 03 2002 04:20 PM PST, Patricia Rosenberg 0 • 10
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"PEACOCK..."