Peacocks Sitting In Bridal Display
From India’s shores the fair pea hen were brought,
From o’er the sea to the states,
From Kashmir the birds were all gathered and caught,
In cages and large wooden crates.
The entry point was the Los Angeles port,
The pea fowl adopted that way,
Their beauteous form and refinement were sought,
Their presence a prospect so gay.
Now wide California served as their home,
To bright Sacramento in droves,
Their white feathers lit in the afternoon gloam,
Their life introduced to the groves.
At bright Wheeler Canyon and in the surrounds,
The glorious pea fowl made roost,
Their number at Santa Paula abounds,
Deep in the wilds they were loosed.
Their queenly appearance, so comely and sleek,
With draping white feathers, a veil,
A stately comportment, so fragile and meek,
A fashion so beautifully pale.
But as they expanded their numbers on land,
Residents rued the bright fowl,
Feral they called them, a derisive brand,
And then at their species they’d scowl.
But others were worshipful, glad at the bird,
Spying their feathers in wonder,
Taking delight in the sounds that they heard,
Thinking the peacock rich plunder.
Fair headed princesses, regal in white,
Diademed crowns set above,
Silently gathered in tree tops by night,
Roosting together in love.
Still to this day the birds make their display,
Gorgeousness set in the hills,
Spanning their feathers, a bridal array,
Beatitude fanned from their quills.
AD Lovkis, 25/08/25
adamdaniel 