Another poem

River Birds


Walking along the river’s edge, I came across an old couple

One arm oustretched, holding aloft a perch for an African grey parrot.

“Her name is Cleopatra,” the grey-haired old lady informed me,

Proud of her feathered pet. “She does seem very regal,” I agreed.

Cleopatra ruffled her feathers and pecked at the leash around her foot.

She squawked  and ring-necked parakeets, wild in the trees in West London,

Called back to their cousin haughtily.



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