A PIGEON'S LAMENT (I.P.)

I wish I was an eagle
Flying high up in the sky;
Swooping low on snowy mountains
Watching rivers flowing by.
With claws as big as garden rakes
I’d trap my juicy prey;
Such a stir I’d always make;
The crowd would point and say:

‘Look at that lovely creature
Such a fine and handsome thing!
Such kingly head, bejewelled eyes:
So strong, and swift of wing!’
But I’m not a golden eagle
Wise owl, nor noble hawk.
And no-one wants to know me,
Bobbing head and funny walk.

I am just a scruffy pigeon:
They all say I’ve got fleas;
And no-one cares or likes me.
Though I try so hard to please!
On buildings I’m not welcome –
They put strong drugs in my food –
I have no home nor young ones
I can’t even raise a brood!

I just sit here feeling lonely
Watching London going by,
And I’ll chat with poor old Nelson:
He too’s only got one eye!
So next time you see a pigeon
Looking sadly up at you;
Don't think him bad, or dirty –
He’s God’s own creature, too.