Pigeons are the final wild birds of the city
Smudged by soot from diesel engines
Waiting for crumbs from someone's hand
They become scenery on the square
On the square there is a fountain
And pigeons need to quench their thirst
So pea-brains of pigeons contain a fountain too
Every day people who walk past the fountain
Use their bodily surges to sense the spurt of water
But some have gotten tied in knots by their desires
Like birds they peck for breadcrumbs of affection
While looking down, we often see such scenery
But a few, beyond the grouped statues, above the square
Exhibit the constant soaring of a fountain
Wow- - -What a marvelous poem it is- - - - Pigeons are the final wild birds of the city Smudged by soot from diesel engines Waiting for crumbs from someone's hand They become scenery on the square - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ____________________________________- But some are tied in knots by their own desires Like birds they peck for breadcrumbs of affection - - - - - - - - - - - - - Breadcrumbs of affection , nice imagery.Thanks for sharing.
Where does one go to find a reader like you? Such an understanding heart cannot be intentionally sought out but can only be encountered. Thanks for seeing charm in my crumb-like phrases.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wondered I'm here the pigeon; the final wild bird but of the city............/// its really beautiful poem