Thwarted

He clasps the finial with pinkish claws
While I observe from safe indoors
This scavenger who has a cause.

He eyes the feeders with a stare
To frighten off the birds on there
Before he launches in the air

And lands … flop! … on the ground
Alone, no other birds around,
But not a morsel to be found.

The flattened earth beneath the tree
Shows not a seed is left for thee!
(Which is, of course, my plan you see …)

I love to feed the finch and tit;
For robins too I do my bit,
But pigeons – that’s the end of it!

Wrencottage

With apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson