When trees are felled, by Tom Mukasa

When trees are felled

Be there when trees are felled,
but at the right time,
jump lest bone or limb are crashed,
a pigeon that once-upon-a-time pecked at grains,
came to know of bread and drumsticks,
at first debris came hurtling down,
like rain from heaven, in boxes,
loaves, half loaves, slices, half slices,
landed on the ground,
the fall splintered them,
a dressed gold brown chicken with pimples,
dropped with a thud,
the pigeon dodged and feigned,
this curious pigeon pecked and never left,
more pigeons saw the cue,
what a noise they made,
soon the bread and chicken were no more,
the pigeons were now in scores,
motivated, they went for other boxes and bundles,
it did not take long for the contents,
to spill, lo and behold!
more bread, soiled diapers and drumsticks,
what a feast it was,
from then on the pigeons know,
be there when trees are felled,
but at the right time,
jump lest a bone or limb are crashed.

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