Seven Pigeons
Seven pigeons sitting cold in the snow,
upon a street sign trembling;
and the snow is falling.
As if on cue they fly on snowy wings,
circling the city buildings;
till a safe ledge is found.
Beautiful they smooth their heavy feathers,
sitting quiet in the cold;
as snowflakes drift about.
How I wish my own weary heart could fly,
and as winter blows and roars;
I could just fold my wings.
O, but could I fly like seven pigeons,
and close my eyes to winter;
and the snow is falling.
___________________________
February 16, 2013
Poetry/Kimo/Seven Pigeons
Copyright Protected, ID 02-456-987-16
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2013
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