Choughs

In the stillness of the April morn

Light the fire keep the children warm

Open windows let the smoke escape

Then the choughs will fly in see what they can take

Something shiny is what they desire

Like the glowing embers of the fire

Pick up sticks and fly back to the trees

With the flaming wood smoke billows on the breeze

They protest as they fly

Dangerous cargo held tight in they beaks