One pidgeon in the plaza
Walks with a wounded wing.
Weakened by the weight
It wobbles from knee to knee.
It's feathers are dirty,
They dont plume like the others.
So boastful and beautiful and fit.
This one flitters from place to place
Feeding on the pity of people
Throwing seeds to the ground.
It can't fight the flock that flys
From hand to hand at the sound
Of the seeds falling down.
So the broken-winged one
Can often be found, dejectedly waiting
For the next observant and soft-hearted
Hand to single it out.
About Me
- Inflamed Appendix
- I am a chipper young man from St. Paul MN. I like people, like to meet people, serve people, write about people, teach people and learn from people.
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