Perhaps as truthful of the Pigeon tribe is.
He might not like to shoot me till I stir;
“And thus far will I trust thee, gentle sir,”
I’ll sit on top, and try how long I can sit,
Time’s precious! “Ready? Pull!” Here goes; I’ll chance it!
* * * * *
’Tis done—’tis done! Down swept the leaden trail;
And must have killed me had I had a tail;
Behind the trap there was “such scanty room,
It missed my (absent) helm but razed a plume.”