At My Feet
As soon as I sit
There’s a bird at my feet,
Just checking to see
If I’ve something to eat.
I don’t feed the pigeons
Or sparrows I see.
The crumbs that they want
Come from others, not me.
They soon figure out
That no treats I’ll supply,
So a couple of pecks,
And they take to the sky.
I’ll give them some credit
For trying, at least.
Each person who sits
Holds a possible feast.
Reminds me of those
Who play Lotto each week.
They never give up
As their fortune they seek.
The odds are the same
As the pigeons who’ve been
Thinking one of these days
They will certainly win!
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