THE VULTURE
The vulture flaps her wings
Jump to the roof top
Bounce on every rotten food
Decayed bodies are her favorite
Each time she turns back
Watching secret eyes
Turning round to see who says
Alas! Alas! Alas!
But her wings are up standing
To fly away at man's voice
Bowing down to check on every corner
Urgly and dirty she has no beauty
Flopping around festival corners
To eat of leftover and sour prey
Wu to be next for its prey
On the roof top she makes some
Noise with her dirty toes
Peeping through for carcases
With flappy head, thin eyes
Which stick in and out the unfeathered head
Sometimes beaded and scavenging
Flying high she spread her wings
Body bigger than the head
To some good, to some bad and of no use
Bald head, devoid of normal feathers
Bare skin, hunching its body
She tucks in its head when cold
Open and stretch out necks when warm
Urgly thing so careful in doings
I'm thinking of who this Vulture resembles now.
It resembles you
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