Saturday, 9 November 2013


The wastrel wastes Trill overfeeding his caged birds,
His enraged words in his voice shrill,
Reflect the fact that he’s mentally ill.
Not least because he keeps entrapped,
Birds, whose wings once freely flapped,
Yet another species on whom we humans have crapped.
Like a hollowed tree deprived of its nutrition: he’s sapped,
Wearily applauding inanity on which his eyes are clapped,
Vague, blurred shapes flit within his brain,
They allude to the resources that remain untapped.