Victoria sits, on her throne – aghast
as the winged horde give their all
on statues laid, that her people paid
of her best men standing tall.
And as Peel and Cobden stand there,
opposite the great civic hall,
winged terrors at best – are making a mess
disgusting the nobles one and all.
So, the fathers – from the hall’s called in an “Expert”
and winged reinforcements he’s brought.
But in rain – the birds laugh (as they have a good bath)
as they know they can’t all be caught.
And with workmen working twenty-four-seven,
and the birds of prey flying day and night
they’ll be working there – in the middle of the square
trying to keep surfaces bright.
But a last word – a thought – for the birdlife
of these statues – they’re really not keen.
as what is now public space – was to them quite ace
when their square was once lush long and green.