Wensleydale, AKA a lot of other things but known to most as Glorwynn of Heavy Wool Bandage.
Glorwynn is in mah guild so I’m sure she’ll pick a pet there rather than here. In the meantime, I hope everyone enjoys pigeon labor or whatever the fuck this is as much as I did.
Birth of a Pigeon at Midnight on Wednesday
Slippery winds choked the air as
gaggles of wooden crates stood,
watching blindly for the fourth instant past dawn.
Waiting as long as a blind crate could.
“CRRAWRK’RRK!” the cry went up!
Up into the the liquid, tangy field
of sky and silence and slip.
Then thudded and oozed into it’s last appeal.
Once more than once and less than thrice
it echoed in the spleeny black.
“GRACK’RAWK-K!” and then “GREEEL’KEE!” and also “REEP! REEP! REEP’KRIK!”
But the lattingales boiled another pot of rice.
‘Twas too many over and minus the dawn
when the glumpy hags scackled brightly past.
From beyond my omniflexible perception I smelled them.
Especially the one adorned in mossy sweat and elemental hat.
Look now! O’er the texturized, spiky, wobbling tiles
a fargulting entity emergenates from deep within.
Mindboggling, exemplifying, inspirationorating…
But with that halitosis taint, which even the underdeveloped plebe knows as sin.
Bones were cast, ballots drawn up.
Executors carried in the ephemeral vaults
of tradional, sanctimonious, civilized ritual of the mischevous and bureaucratic gloriousness.
“At last,” the words dribbled from elongated gaping maws, “we find fault.”
Of course, I cast my vote!
Of course, I signed my name!
“MWRAARRRKK!” The protestations of the unqualified flared like fiery chimberlottes.
Yourself and myself are not to blame.
Pass the pudding over this way.