The Pigeons Of St. Marks
Robert William Service 1874 – 1958
Something's wrong in Pigeon-land;
'Tisn't as it used to be,
When the pilgrim, corn in hand,
Courted us with laughing glee;
When we crooned with pinions furled,
Tamest pigeons in the world.
When we packed each arm and shoulder,
Never deeming man a menace;
Surly birds were never bolder
Than our dainty doves of Venice:
Who would have believed a pigeon
Could become wild as a widgeon.
Well, juts blame it on the War,
When Venetians grew thinner,
And gaunt hands would grab us for
Succulence to serve a dinner . . .
How our numbers fast grew fewer,
As we perished on a skewer.
Pa and Mummie went like that,
So when tourist takes his stand,
On his Borsolino hat
Soft as whispered love I land;
Then with cooing liquid vowels
I . . . evacuate my bowls.
Something's wrong in Pigeon-land;
Mankind we no longer trust;
Shrinking from the tendered hand,
pick we corn from out the dust;
While on guileless pilgrim pate,
Thinking that revenge is sweet,
Soft I croon my hymn of hate,
Drop my tribute and retreat.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 54 sec read
- 61 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | Ababax cdcdee fcfccc gagaxx Ahahijij |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 975 |
Words | 178 |
Stanzas | 5 |
Stanza Lengths | 6, 6, 6, 6, 8 |
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"The Pigeons Of St. Marks" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 19 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/32616/the-pigeons-of-st.-marks>.
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