meadowpatch

The sound of a garden growing


Pigeon

A blob of fluff fallen

on the scuff of bitumen

where a walker strolls

in the winter cold.

A tiny feathered thing

with a chance to live.

 

Person takes this thing

as yet unformed, to calm

and sun and makes a nest

and pigeon lives and knows

and finds a place one day

where cosmos grows

 

to be half pigeon

and half  like the human heart

who gave it life and walks by

still.

 

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