Classic Poem

A pigeon stands outside her window-pane,
A puppet bobbing for bread or grain or nuts;
Craning and twisting his head within the frame,
Scraping his wings along the sill, he struts
And pouts and bows, wooing above, below,
Cooing chromatics up and down the glass,
Spreading his wings to fly, closing them slow:
Each wile parading a wish to let him pass.

Raising the window-pane sufficiently
To let her palm release the modicum.
Of food essential to his minstrelsy,
The lass unfolds two fingers and a thumb
And gives the troubadour the lovely crumb
That pays a bird or man for ecstasy.