Crumbs
We work for them and drop them
So pigeons have a feast.
Indoors, they hide in dread of
The vacuum cleaner beast.
On coffee cakes and muffins,
They're something that we prize
And often they are sprinkled
On huckleberry pies.
The detritus of dinners
Or what's left when one succumbs,
Our lives are filled with highs and lows,
With both containing crumbs.
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