"Look," says Rook

"Look," says Rook, "I'm a cockerel."
But the gulls are unimpressed.
"Get down off that weather-vane,
before the wind turns west."

"I don't care where the wind blows,"
says the weather-cockerel-rook.
"You will do," both gulls warn him,
"if it changes and you're stuck!"

poem © Celia Warren 2012