Strong coffe surps into the air, chattering parrots sit on branches
of red,yellow and blue.
They shoot looks across the room.
Sly and cunning, it is where the rumour tree grows
and squawks loudly from the crows.
Predatory eyes scan the area in search of prey.
The hatchlings sit awkwardly playing on a game.
The dying,with eyes sorrowful and worn,
peck at sandwiches made of tuna and sweetcorn.
Their songs quiet as they moan.
Yet the hatchlings don't look to see what they will become.
Machines trembles spitting out seed like food.
The clock slowly ticks.
The surping gets louder as the predator continues to stare,
choosing who to kill and who to spare.
Coyly, the birds will chirp to one another, a false smile on their face,
their minds think about how it is a waste.
Masks of welcoming, beak-like smile send shivers down newcomers spines.
It will not be long before they realise it isn't a staff room; a safe nest.
But a dangerous game only for the best.
The predators smile cunningly before darting over, their claws sharp.
They loom forward with snapping beaks and white teeth.
With a wave of a huge wing,
they show the nest of winter and spring.
All of the bird's chatter stops.
Their eyes glued to the newcomers spot.
Pushing a chair, they patiently wait.
The newcomer breathes before stepping to a gate.
The eagles lark to led them into a future frighteningly dark.
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