Pigeons Poem by Angela Wybrow

Under the hot sun, I begin to wither,
So I sit awhile down by the river.
It isn’t my intention to share my lunch,
But, around my feet, the pigeons bunch.

For a while, I avoid their greedy glare,
But, at my roll, they continue to stare.
I feel my resolve melting deep within,
And, luckily for them, I soon give in.

I break some small pieces from my roll:
The pigeons know that they’ve struck gold!
I choose the pigeon stood closest to me:
If he’ll eat from my hand, I want to see.

I lower my hand down to his height,
And notice his eyes are full of fright.
At first, he jumps back, full of fear,
Wondering if it’s such a good idea.

Then he snatches the morsel from my hand,
And, straightaway, some more pigeons land.
More of his kind continue to arrive:
Bustling around like bees in a hive.

The smallest of smiles graces my face,
As, over each crumb, the pigeons give chase.
Of my leftover crumbs, I scatter the rest,
Leaving the pigeons feeling truly blessed.