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Saturday 14 June 2014


‘Trust me,’ said the butcher bird
(formally known as the shrike)
‘It’s a lovely day, do come out to play.
We could go for a flight or a hike.’

But the little vole stayed in her hole
and would not take his word.
She could see his sharp claws and his fearsome beak
and had heard of this butchering bird.
For along the hedge where the thicket runs deep
his food store was fixed on a spike
and her sweet cousin, Joan had not returned home
from the junket on Saturday night.

‘I thank you,’ she said, ‘and I wish you good day.
Now, please, just hop it and fly right away.
I cannot be friends with a shrike!’

© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved

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