Grey November, cloudy skies.
Men in rustic clothing
Carrying guns, primed to kill.
Dogs to chase the falling bag,
Many birds will die today
All part of the annual thrill.
Crows and Gulls gather
Flock to feed on the slaughter.
Dogs retrieve the balls of feathers,
Beaters create noise to scare the prey,
We will feast on fowl today.
All part of the annual kill.
Take aim, pull the trigger, fire!
Missed, nothing slaughtered, nothing falls.
Bang! Bang! The shotgun speaks again,
Blood spurts from gaping wounds
Invisible blood on the killer's hands.
I say! How many did you bag today?
We feed our friendly garden birds,
We have six feeders at home.
Robins, Blackbirds, Finches and Tits,
Beautiful creatures, almost tame.
We only eat game birds in season
They are just part of the annual kill.
Chicken on Sunday, roast to taste
Eggs for breakfast, boiled or fried?
Turkey for lunch in sandwiches,
During the season we’ll eat a brace
We are bird lovers after all
We take no part in the annual kill.
Written by John Yeo~~28th November 2013