Captain Bluebottle's Battle

by Aydin Aslam-Denn

One silver morning, in Fallen Log County,
Captain Bluebottle was surveying his bounty.
Berries and seeds piled up high,
Enough to make a fruity pie.
He picked up a raspberry. Took a bite.
Juicy. Crunchy. Sweet and ripe.

But all of a sudden, the alarm bell rang
And Corporal Cicada flew in with a bang.
"Knock before you enter," Bluebottle frowned,
"Or I'll have you workin' in the termite mound!"
Corporal cried, "Captain! Captain! There's been a raid!
They've taken our gemstones and planned to invade!"

"Who are 'They'?" boomed Bluebottle shocked.
"The Pigeon Parades, they'll 'ave us locked!"
A flapping of feathers was heard overhead.
"Assemble our troops!" Bluebottle yelled.

Within minutes, the Woodlouse Warriors were prepared.
None of them frightened. None of them scared.
The Wasp Air Patrol hovered in the air.
Ready to attack Grandmaster Pigeon's lair
The Tower of London. Home of the foe.
Not a moment to lose. No time to be slow.

Meanwhile, in Pigeon Control Centre,
The Birds were sharpening their beaks and their feathers.
They gathered outside the insect mounds
In the air and on the grounds.
They flapped aloud, determined they vowed,
Never to concede to this insect crowd.

 
There was a moment of silence for both of the armies.
Grandmaster Pigeon chuckled, "They're balmy!
Everyone knows the birds will win!
We'll capture them quick! Keep them in tins!"
He raised his beak and hummed a hymn.
The perfect morning air, suddenly grim.

"Chaaaarge!" cried Captain Bluebottle, an angry kind of red.
All the armies raced on ahead.
The Centipede Soldiers,
The Woodlouse Warriors,
The Dragonfly Demolishers,
The Caterpillar Crushers,
The Wasp Air Patrol,
All with Captain and Corporal in control.

The armies, they surged; the armies, they merged.
They flapped, they shuffled.
The orders of Grandmaster were all muffled.
Feathers ripped. Thoraxes flipped.
Beaks battered. Heroes shattered.
Friends and enemies side by side.

Could this be the end? Not one had ever thought.
'Til death!' they shouted as the armies fought.
The still, the wounded,
The shocked, the deformed.
The Grandmaster who'd scorned.
His precious flocks. Now he mourned.

One grey morning, in Fallen Log County,
Captain Bluebottle wept over his bounty,
Bodies and feathers piled up high
Enough to make a kingdom cry.
He picked up a gemstone. Perfectly formed.
Dull. Worthless. Glory and gore.