Morning has broken,

dawn patrol and raids galore.

 

Jenny Wren dish dashes,

commando – like,

with her tommy gun cackle,

as tits explode amongst the briars.

 

The blackbird gives its warning call

as wood pigeons glide in,

 streaked like American Mustangs,

D-Day striped.

 

The sparrows mob the hedgerow bocage;

small arms in the fray

for the bird table.

 

A Jay gives the siren,

as a sparrow hawk spitfires out of the blue

and the whole avian regiment

bursts for the cover of trees and shrubs.

 

Up in the altitude,

the buzzard glides,

like a Lancaster bomber,

sighting the targets.

 

The Thrush bugle calls

the next advance

as starlings invade the green.

 

A squirrel legs it

“Sod that for a game of soldiers!”

 

The table is emptied,

and below it looks like carnage,

 

as birds play war for fun.