Day 24 Prompt: Infect

Title: Twenty-Four

The rotting flesh of blackbirds and thrushes infect this once-beautiful place

Where only one-eyed gulls, crawling and slithering scavengers roam

Enlarged bills and claws reign, in a wasteland which is

No longer a fit place for god's creatures to range, with

Tiny yet perfectly formed beaks, designed by evolution for a

Yesteryear, where they pecked seeds from sheaves of wheat and corn in verdant fields

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Four and twenty blackbirds were baked in a pie, an adage from an old nursery rhyme

Our children once learnt, it sounds harsh but has become a distorted reality, and

Under our domes, no flocks circle, only above where it is not cost-effective to

Remove their blood spatter from the glass, after they collide with the surface and splatter!