Are you a sweet song thrush
Or a magpie here for the shine in my eye
Are you a Wren in the brush
Moorhen in the brook, hawk in the sky
You seem to parrot me
A paltry parody of prosody
No primer to be a prodigy
Might well be a wood pigeon
Cut down the wood Gideon
Clip down the wing pinion
Falconer hears clear the falcon
Wings cut clean with my falchion.
Alchemisland 
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