Theme: Life


by R. D. Ashby
Bookmark and Share
Outside our building, on the grass verge
They assemble, always at it, picking at crumbs,
Grey as weathered tarmac, humbly
Getting out of the way of passers-by.

It strikes one they insist on using their legs,
And have different tempos tailored to suit,
Casual to hurried, before as a last resort
Breaking into flight as master aviators.

In the air, with conceptual ease they wing
With rhythmical smartness, to alight
Thirty feet up on a branch or roof-edge,
Resuming business in a swift descent.

The interim flight we humans call of fancy
Gives us such wings, like pigeons we attain
The heights; but return to the humble rate
Of legs to transport us to the dining table. 


More By  :  R. D. Ashby

Views: 502     Comments: 0

Name *
Email ID
Comment *
Verification Code*

Can't read? Reload

Please fill the above code for verification.