Pigeon Grey
Way down passed our shed,
Where the realm of humans ends,
‘Mongst the mottled bottle brushes
Live a hundred feathered friends.
And ninety-nine of those
Cavort and romp and play,
And the only one left out
Is poor old Pigeon Grey.
The magpies are quite striking
And the honey-eaters fair,
The rosellas are spectacular;
It’s tricky not to stare.
They gather in the bird bath
Where they primp and preen all day,
But when Pigeon tries to join them
They squawk, “Ew! Get away!”
And Pigeon Grey sighs deeply
Then he sits off on his own,
He watches on with envy
Wishing he was not alone.
If only they would speak to him
Those other birds would find
That Pigeon Grey is funny.
He is clever. He is kind.
But they all look down their beaks
At his feathers drab and grey,
And then rather than converse with him
They just squawk “Get away!”
Then one day there is twittering,
The garden is in shock.
Pigeon Grey has made a friend;
The new bird on the block.
And the whispers are quite snippy,
“That new bird she must be dull.
Perhaps another pigeon
Or an imbecilic gull!”
But the honey-eater sees her
And she has to look once more.
This new bird is not dull at all.
This bird is not a bore.
Her feathers start as brightest blue,
Then yellow, red, and green.
If the garden was a monarchy
Then she would be its queen.
There’s a hustle then to meet her,
A bustle and a fuss.
“You don’t have to sit with Pigeon Grey,
Come here and sit with us!”
But the lorikeet shakes her head,
“I’d rather stay right here.
The world seems so much shinier
When Pigeon Grey is near.”
The other birds they bristle,
“It simply can’t be true.
He is drab and dreary,
He’s not half as bright as you.”
The lorikeet looks surprised,
“You don’t know him at all.
Pigeon Grey is marvellous,
He’s famed beyond your wall.
“Have you not heard his music,
As he wakes the morning sun?
If you’ve spent the afternoon with him
Has it not been loads of fun?
“Have you seen him cheer a baby bird
As it first takes to the skies?
Have you heard him tell a funny tale
With laughter in his eyes?
“Have you come to him with worries
And been sure he’d listen well?
Have you taken on the sage advice
That he will freely tell?”
“If you’ve ever asked him for his help
Did he make you wait?
I’m sure that you must know the truth.
Pigeon Grey is great!”
Pigeon Grey is humbled
But as he looks around,
His neighbours will not meet his eyes;
They all stare at the ground.
But then a tiny bird agrees,
“Yes, Pigeon Grey’s the best!
He taught me to be brave
When I was scared to leave the nest.”
And others pipe up too
With their tales that spring to mind.
Indeed, each bird does seem to know
That Pigeon Grey is kind.
Way down passed our shed,
Where the realm of humans ends,
‘Mongst the mottled bottle brushes
Live a hundred feathered friends.
And each one of those hundred
Cavort and romp and play,
But the one they all love best of all
Is dear old Pigeon Grey.
By Kylie Covark

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