Pigeons - Poem by James Tipp
The bare skeletal tree in winters nude apparel
Plays host to a large and silent group of pigeons
Like large grey winter fruit they hang from every branch
Gazing down upon the Eurolink and us, still, watching.
The ivy's black and fruitful berries their winter store,
A feast on a cold grey wet, windy, overcast day.
So we stare and they stare back, both longing for the sun.
(c) J Tipp Jan 2015
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