The kingdom of plume

If we could glide through the kingdom of plume,

See rainbows of ritual, veiled in costume.

We'd admire society's birds of prey;

Keeping good order in nature's own way.

They all have their natural habitat,

Flip to and fro to peck this and peck that.

Confine such industry to laudable cause,

Never really defy Mother Nature's great laws.

They fly to pride's towers to toil, rest and mate;

But not to administer doses of hate.

Won't destroy nest designs of another flock;

Nor wreck their flight paths by flying amok.

They won't stress plum order avenging a few;

For they know by instinct what that would do.

Confusion would reign in the relevant space;

Until a new order is put into place.

In the event of some subversive strike;

The onus does fall on that bird at the pike;

To marshal the falcon, night owl and black hawk;

And anything else with a powerful squawk.

The top of God's order must get into gear

To discipline those who would interfere.

So history will prove that the eagle was right

To swoop down on terror with all of her might.

For good pecking order causes fighting to cease.

It's a tested solution for keeping the peace.

There'll always be those who can't comprehend.

Others, unwilling to overcome partisan bend,

Can see no material consequence, whether

They peck without those of an opposite feather.

That's par for the roost; birds won't always concur;

But the job must be done unless they prefer

Persistent discord over land, sea and space,

Wild fowl roaming all over the place;

And scud from the oilbird egging the face

Of the kingdom's pecking order.