The Peacock

A pleasant stroll,
The peacock takes
On its way back,
Each evening.

The sun has set;
The moon has come;
The air is cool;
’Tis twilight time!

The peacock walks
Effortlessly,
Amongst house-sites,
On lanes of own.

All through the way,
It feeds on leaves
That sprouted new,
A few days’ old!

A feast to eyes
Of young and old,
The peacock runs
On seeing men.

A hardy bird
With colored plumes
That gives its stroll,
A majesty.

Across the fence,
Over the bush,
It gently flies,
If need should rise.

It makes no noise,
On way back home;
It has walked miles
Unknowingly!

No snake dare near
The alert bird
That wards off foes
By flying low.

And when it’s dawn,
The dancing starts
On terraces,
As pea-hens watch!

The national bird
Of India,
Is protected:
‘So, please don’t kill! ’

Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-6-2010

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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