Dear Pigeon,
I have fed you in the gardens, now turned concrete grey.
I've watched you dance around spiked structures made to make you unwelcome.
I have heard you take off en masse, flapping, as angry boots kick out.
I've seen you cold and wet and scared.
But I don't know what brings you joy or what brought you to this place.
Does that mean that I don't care?
I have fed you in the gardens, now turned concrete grey.
I've watched you dance around spiked structures made to make you unwelcome.
I have heard you take off en masse, flapping, as angry boots kick out.
I've seen you cold and wet and scared.
But I don't know what brings you joy or what brought you to this place.
Does that mean that I don't care?
I hope not. I just don't know.