Gallivanting—
then a sound before all else.
The first point of contact between
one reality and another—
dark to light then feather-grey.
But here it infiltrates a dream;
sends it asunder—quickly begins
to slip away from out my head,
down the back and under my bed.

Behold!
The cooing of a gentle pigeon exalts
this fledgling dawn afar—
floating inward with a waltz
through the window left ajar.
A one-two-three one-two-three rhythm
that drums a hop, skip, flap and a jump
into the new day, now anchoring firm.

And lo—dismay does weight my being
when given witness to a shameful display.
Mistreatment of their benignity;
fleeing and sent reeling from both
rabid youth and rapid car,
clinging on bare to dignity.

Who will aid their clubbed foot?
And so too mend their crooked wing?
Who will cleanse their face from soot?
And provide street audiences
when they sing?

So spare a solemn, tender thought
for all the splendid chirps and quirks
from said meandering friends.
And learn to see them—
no flying rats nor vermin scum—
if not already then someday soon,
in a more endearing lens.

© Joseph Chin
#pigeon #birds #beauty #nature