Trading Places
The cool morning breeze was delightful
and quite dreamy; tacked against
a recent freshly-painted bench of gray,
I was enjoying my delicious break-fast:
bacon with eggs and steaming hot coffee,
hoping to feel full...
The unhesitant,slender pigeons
quickly came around craving my food:
cooing with relief and a joy so incredible
in their cheerful sounds of noon,
to feed on the scattered bread-crumbs
by the swaying birch tree:
where no one was undesiderable;
where all could gather to share their agony...
I wanted to show them my generosity,
giving them most of my toast,
which never goes to waste;
and as they surroundered me with amicability,
their daring and scary eyes
sparkled with thankfulness
as some staggered on their scrawny feet:
hunger and need were a display
of that unimaginable misery...
I did not see babes following them;
they surely waited in their cosy
and camouflaged nest so unseen
by restless predators and hunters!
One courageous,friendly pigeon
fled to my left with swiftness,
slightly touching the dandelions
covered with sparkling dew;
he asked for more bread
with a convincing coo...
And though my break-fast was humble,
enough to make them fumble;
my only reward was to see them eat,
feed them on those Sunday mornings
and make them my little companions;
but to feel their hunger,so explicit,
I have to trade places indeed...
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2005
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