Bird Shooting

The shooting season has begun,

Signalling the need to break free from old habits.

Like a disease concealed in the tall grass,

We must peer through the vibrant greenery.

:::

Every time I avert my gaze,

Amidst this overwhelming disgrace,

Caused by the ticking clocks and waddling ducks,

They stand prepared to strike once more.

:::

Hunting red grouse and grey partridge,

While keeping an eye out for woodcock and golden plover,

And carefully spotting the smallest, jack snipe,

We skilfully abide the rules of this game.

:::

They tie us together with invisible threads

To the familiar land where peasants reside

Working the soil with their tools

In search of the telltale signs of pheasants and coots.

:::

Rummaging, feeling flustered, and being shunned,

Just like this soil, in a state of great shame,

Destroying our perception of the common good,

Failing to serve everyone, a mournful scorn.

:::

Thank you for reading!