Just Sunday Morn

Balcony birds eye view Tiny gardens as tin soldiers Tight in a row Some as spoilt cherished children Desired domains Some have dinked boxes Former relished Remains....yet still standing One seems a foxes Potential secret den Wildflower prolific Non specific Design on the eye Nor ideas of grandest Grace Just good honest wildflowers Bursting micro colours over and out Of their space.... Sparrows combined free falling... Sight Spitfires versus...... Focke-wulf Engrossed in that oh so intense... Dog-fight Crash landing within the foliage Of The Grandest tree Exit sprite....one cabbage White, Flits of hurriedly... And the warbling starch collared wood-pigeon... settles To sing his gracious sermon Within the sparrow's demise His dull low call, to me Surreptitiously... stole the show It was indeed a glorious Sunday... Morn And what happened to the battling birds I confess..I do not know