The Longridge Doves Poem by Mark Heathcote

Equate if you will the heavenly orbs above
With these terrestrial, feathered, peasants
These chimney pots, juggling, tenants
Communal in their looping heights of lust
Seated on the swings of eternal love
Peacefully rounded by the winds of primordial dust
Who called an end to these creatures loving as angels?
To these rooftop white doves
In our rooftop angles
Now they're only chicken-wired, ribbed in rust
Thanks to the gods on city councils.