He marched along the fence
As if he was on parade,
Head and beak held high
Like the leader of a brigade.
With his black polished head
And chest firm and stout.
He stood out from the crowd
Who were busying about.
Adjusting his collar of white
Which seemed a bit too firm,
As one eases the knot of a tie
Before an exam, at midterm
He left the fence and flew
To a hawthorn beside a pond
And gazed upon a fluttering reed
In a manner rather fond.
He asked the reed for a dance
And they tiptoed on the breeze,
He's just a romantic rogue
Who lives life with a tease.
A ladies man, a bonny lad,
And a reeder of great note,
The toff of the bunting clan
For that, he gets my vote.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem