Pigeon: A Poem

I felt compelled to be creative, so I drudged up an old poetry draft and finished it. I make no claims to greatness, but it's as good an excuse for another blog entry as anything.

So here it is. A fun poem about a pigeon.

Pigeon

Wings Open

Flying fancy Free

Oh how lucky

thinks the pigeon

To be little Me.

*

Corn scatters

Yellow on the ground

When I am hungry

thinks the pigeon

There’s food to be found.

*

Rain spatters

Pooling in a hollow

Oh how lovely

thinks the pigeon

A place for me to wallow.

*

Warm Air

On a sunny summer day

I must find a place

thinks the pigeon

Where it’s safe for me to lay.

*

*

*

Wings flapping

In the Crisp Happy Air

Oh what glee

thinks the pigeon

To be a bird so fair

*

They’re scruffy

Feathers worn, and falling out

It’s time

thinks the pigeon

To go without a doubt.

*

Leaves drift

Colors floating by

No more hiding

thinks the pigeon

From terror in the sky.

*

Days fade

Longer colder nights

Brrrrrr

thinks the pigeon

No more bugs in sight.

*

*

*

Wings tucked

Held against the cold.

Oh how happy

thinks the pigeon

To be a bird so bold.

*

Snow falls

On the eaves gently landing

Harrumph

thinks the pigeon

It’s frozen where I’m standing.

*

Crumbs land.

Near a bench in the park.

He’s late

thinks the pigeon

It’s almost time for dark.

*

Sun trickles

On the branches so bare.

Oh what fun

thinks the pigeon

I haven’t a single care.

*

*

*

Wings out

Bathing in the sun

Oh how perfect

thinks the pigeon

To be a bird--what fun!

*

Buds pop

Plants bursting joy.

Green

thinks the pigeon

& Bugs to enjoy.

*

Color spots

On all the trees like lace

See all the pretties.

thinks the pigeon

Pretties all over the place.

*

Sun shines

Creating new heat

Where to go

thinks the pigeon

To find a warmer seat.

*

*

*

Wings tired.

Sitting on the ledge.

Slowly

thinks the pigeon

I’ll scoot towards the edge

*

Leaves fall.

On and off, bit by bit.

Heavy

thinks the pigeon

I just want to sit.

*

Light fades

Yellow and red, a tad.

So tired,

thinks the pigeon

And suddenly so sad.

*

Sun sets.

On the pigeon

Above the city so high

Goodbye.

thinks the pigeon

then slowly starts to die.

*

*

*

Wings Open

Flying, again fancy Free

Oh how lucky

thinks the pigeon

To have been little Me.