An imperious and virulent hedge seems to rise
Between us and the yellow house, and hides
Its charges from our rusty fence and our dustbin\'s stare.
Woodpidgeons nestle there,
Inveterate gossips of the avian sphere,
With their nonstop hooting jabber of what transpires here:
\"Hoo-hoo!
Such strange plants prosper, bathing in the window view,
That in our country never before grew!
In between the leafy shades, those clawed hunters sit and stew,
Longing to make us their food!
Hoo-hoo!\"
This they relate to all passersby,
(Gulls, robins, bees, and other folk that fly)
And so word of our would-be greenhouse and curious cats
Is carried on in turn by sparrows, (and at night, by bats)
Passed on and on like a pretty coin,
In those secret conferences where wingéd beasts join.
And on this highway of membrane and feather
Tales of humans are passed on forever:
Adventurous crows leave a faraway county
To plunder our garden and steal its bounty;
A mother hen warns her chicks to straighten up
Before furry fiends come to gobble them up.
And as for that house over the hedge –
Each day, a pigeon comes to the window ledge,
To keep a caged canary abreast
Of what she\'s missed, and all the rest.
For whether they are rare or common,
No-one should ever be forgotten.