Hedradwall Cabbard raised his barrel
At the Suejuice Bird – in best apparel.
His flight or plight – to west or east
Was ‘soar away’, or ‘die as feast’!The shutters closed in and around.
Most fond peekers made no sound
But backed from blinds and thus could see
Not what or how the end would be.
One shot was fired from rod of two
But missed and hit a stanky flue.
“My Ball-Cock!” shouted out a man,
Who chased as far as catch it can,
But stopped on edge by rope stretched tight
His murmured “You”! issued at height.
“You’ll stop my Wind, you gunning fart,
Get off my windcock – shoo depart.
My balcony’s not made for rope
And old green flippered shooting blokes.
The Suejuice Bird stood very still,
Not wishing anybody ill,
Reflecting on the second shot
From Cabbard’s gun and winded sot.
And in this state of stanky poo,
Our characters exist for you.
This poem was simply meant to be,
Sub-fuse of tone and all for free!