After much time spent
watching these dirty
grey feathered foes
I have grown quite
fond of them.
Kissing and beak
pecking on top of
the lampost singing
songs as sweet as
any dove.
swooping down snatching
up a just dropped chip
sharing the meal on the
garden wall watching the
sun go down.
Flying rodents some
call them
bringers of disease.
I wonder as these two
little pigeons watch
us scatter our street
dinners on the floor
then vomit and piss
what they make of us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem