On the eaves of the roof  the male pigeon

 harrases the female

As he tries in vain  to get his way

and I think him  some plump old gentleman

a clerk perhaps, in grey

Following a brunette in a bar

Attempting to appeal to some detail

Or making eyes at her from afar

Nothing changes.

Is that his human nature he is trying to conceal with a newspaper?

While feigning int’rest in her name

and just how strange it is to know

wild things are born the same.