Poem; A wonderful interlude.

He came one Autumn morning
Through the mist, cautiously walking,
Such a beautiful sight, it set my heart
Alight. His magnificent coat shone
In the light, vivid blue head, green neck
With white collar, a glow of orange
A Pheasant, no other.
Daintily he approached, with his head
On one side, two beady dark eyes,
Examining my face, to see if he was
In the right place. At first, when I
Threw him some peanuts, he just stood
And stared, with an arrogance which
Seemed to say, " Its only on my terms
I'll stay. I have escaped the shoot
Over the fields, and will not yield."
After that, every day, he came our way,
Gradually coming right up to the door,
Taking the peanuts right out of my hand,
And, when we did not come, he
Always tapped on the glass,
Making a deep throated cry, as if to say,
"You're late today!"
He stayed in our garden up in the tree,
And when called would come running
So fast, that I was aghast.
In Spring he went away, and we thought
He had gone for good, but one day,
There he stood with two wives,
Proud as punch, they had come for lunch!
For three years running, he always came
Back, demanding and clucking his
Way into our hearts, fat and sleek
And yet gentle of beak. And then
One day he went away, and never
Came back, alas and alack, leaving
Us to wonder, had he become
Someone's dinner?