Violent splashes of survival,
Thriving, through cracks in walls
And drab, pavement slabs
The City’s lungs, losing their bark,
As they choke down, its gargling soup
Pigeons, dining out on spew
Left behind, by someone who,
Had one too many, over their few
Whilst the parakeets’, sudden, startling screech,
Almost knocks small ones, off-a their feet
The Capital Fox, on the prowl,
After the wanton sun, goes down
With rats, on their runs
And bats, that swoon,
Underneath a full,
And gloriously, mesmerising,
Metropolitan moon
Then humans, who pass by,
Without a care, or blink of eye
Detached, from the very thing,
That provides, with everything
On their driven, blinkered course,
Until finally forced, to stop and flag,
Their timely, fateful hearse
WILDsound Festival 