The Last Race - Poem by emma anderson
The burst of energy as the doors are openly flung,
The wind through his flapping wings echoing like a drum,
The feel of the cool sea breeze leaving its sting in the air,
now its time for him to decide where.
Above the world gliding with his beauty and his grace,
looking through the fields and trees below for his final special place.
Travelling through time into the corners of his heart,
he knows where hes going to,
he knows which part.
and although the special place he chooses we will never know,
only he can decide where he wants to go
and when we look into our memories
we will always look back
and think of this special pigeon
thats been rightly named....
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