These Pigeons

Sitting by the fence,
a pretty flock so dense,
their soft, supple wings
fluttering and flapping, it's spring.

In that open park,
where sing many a lark,
nestled together,
sitting by closely is a red- crested woodpecker.
And a rosy mist, tints my window,
I am watching them sitting on my sofa, indoors.

A halo forms
as the weather transforms.
Its getting dusky,
its kind of smelling musky.
Their staccato feet, pitting and patting
the grounds softly, as they continue walking.

The night may be awakening
as their slim necks are shaking,
hoping and gliding,
they appear to be sliding.
And one pigeon appears to be gazing,
his bands of green and blue shimmering,
Looking up at the starlit sky,
what could they be talking about and why?.

Some of them are trying to hide,
if they would in me confide
'Oh, tell me what's in your heart and mind ?,
I am assuring you, I would be kind.
Tell me your lover's name,
let there be no reserve nor shame,
c'mon let's not make excuses, that's now so lame.


Brushing past the door,
oh why don't you fly indoor,
let us be friends
talking about the latest trends.
If you could speak, or perhaps you do,
Why don't you join me in eating some hot Lentil stew?

And they are flying past
dropping off their casts,
time does have wings,
it's just one of those things.

Their sparkling bodies...taking a turn
getting ready for their next lively run.