Statue
They're usually made from solid stone,
And are usually sitting all alone,
Their eyes so cold and never-blinking,
Their stares so deep as if they're thinking,
With backs curved as if in pride,
Masking their sorrows that lie inside.
Always bearing a smile so fake,
Masking their frowns that occasionally quake.
Out in the rain they breakdown and corrode,
the process is painful and very slow.
But with the company of pigeons to and fro
'Tis not so bad, now don't you know?
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