LITTLE DICKY BIRDS.

Apparently,
Sometime in the mid Nineties,
Peter and Paul flew away
From the nursery
They were roosting in,
And haven’t been seen since.

Come to think of it
Neither have Andrew, or Matthew or Martin or Mark,
And standing nowhere near them
Are Phillip and Michael and Steven,
And even
David and Darren and Danny and Gary
Are absent,
As are with Robert and Roger and Simon and Luke,
And Richard himself,
And John,
Of all people,
Has gone
Too,
Along with Rodney and Raymond,
Who, let’s be honest,
Weren’t all that famous even then.

But what is peculiar,
Amongst the modern monikers of Jaiden and Kaidan,
And the superstar cadres of Dylans and Lennons,
Are the collection of flowing cognomens,
Like Harry and Freddie and Georgey and Billy
Along with Archie, a Ronnie, a Charley or two,
Thrown in with Jacky and Harvey and Olly anew;
So I guess what we’ll have to do,
In order to entice that little flock back,
Is either rename them,
Or wait for a Bible revival,
And don’t even get me started on the
Charlottes and...