four feeble pairs of wings
flapping, beaks preening
imaginary things.
mom bird looking old
pop bird real bold
their four offspring
are being told
"avoid the black birds
the biggest and the blackest"
they perch on the rooftop
near the gutter, cheeping
loudly all a flutter
even in the bird world
the squeakiest young'un
gets the greasiest grub
diving, landing, more
feeding on demanding,
mom and pop bird are
in charge, "beware of wings
size, LARGE"
finding a wet garden bed,
beaking the broken ground till
tiny pebbles and tiny insects
feed the hunger digest the rest.
Young wings no longer frail,
flight and landings
dive and lift, glide
and swoop, and land alight
on the edge of a solo flight
until the three birdboys and one birdgirl
find a mate, each
(And give mombird and popbird a wel-deserved rest)
oh and as for the three bad birds
in all black tuxedos, they were chased
and they raced away from six fast
fearless finches