Butcher Bird

The stately bird, he cocked his head
And fixed me with a gaze of lead
Polished, metal, yet toxic like
Less like a sparrow, more like a Shrike

He watched me through my grimy glass
Watched me, watched the hours pass
And never did he twitch or stir
That eerie, staring, tiny bird

His steady gaze unsettled me
And very soon I did see
A splash of crimson on his beak
Stained so dark with colour bleak

I watched him from my sleeping room
The garden beyond draped in gloom
Of evening ease and dolce dew
Of night to come and sunlight slew

Flutter did that little bird
'Oi!' and as if he had heard
He stumbled, flummoxed by the cry
And locked me in his coal-black eye

Still I mused the stain of red
Sitting on my bedroom bed
And noticed I with fast disgust
Twas blood that slicked that small bird's bust

Vexed by my pointless call
The bird took off, again, once more
And fluttered to the garden rose
And there, he stopped, and turned, and posed

And as I stared at the prickled plant
I saw what I wish you shan't
Parts of people stuck on spikes
Placed by this demonic Shrike

Ears, fingers, eyes and noses
Speared on the thorns of roses
A buffet for this Devil's Slave
Who's sent so many to their grave

In a flash of wings and jet-black feather
Came the Soldier of the Nether
Back up to my window ledge
From the thorny, gruesome hedge

I placed together every peace
And realised my cruel release
That I was a part of this feast
To feed old Pluto's airborne beast

As the bird began to tap
And use its beak to stab and rap
The glass, I felt a rising dread
As to Death my soul was wed

He broke quick into my home
In he came, flushed from the gloam
Taking with the gourmet part
My ears, eyes, yet not my heart

Never again have I heard
Or seen, or smelt, the Butcher Bird
And still I lie in my blood-soaked bed
Waiting 'till I might be dead.