Planets Of The Peacocks

The song resumes and we must yield to love. You know the rest, sweet Lady tenderness, We orbit you, compelling femaleness, We spin, by gravity compelled to move Upon the pathways you alone can choose! We strutting males compulsively parade Our brilliant feathers fanning in charade Our timorous egos wishing not to lose The favour of the peahen watching near With feigned disinterest until the choice is made And to the applicants the news conveyed, The losers, hooked off-stage, and shown the door. No doubt we will resume the song of love By gravity we spin, compelled to move.