The Peacock

The tarsus was jumping on the floor,

With its striking herls that wore,

The flamboyant and lustrous primaries,

Like the juicy painted colours of berries,

It raised its sickle high,

Gazing at the bright stars in the sky,

Matching its feathers of smalt blue,

In the breezy cold air that spews,

The strands of its hairs,

Along with jiggled droplets of tears,

Danced in its shadows of a quiver,

Sparkling in the rays of shimmer,

And enjoyed its rhapsodies of praise,

Erecting its crown and crest in raise!