Why is that grey pigeon
Sprinting through greyer and greyer sky,
On a dying midwinter day?
As I see it dive between the two houses
Opposite me,
It looks desperate,
It looks like it’s making an escape.
Yet this is not the weather
For hawks to hunt.
It’s a time to run home,
It’s a time to feel
Fear and despair
If you’re alone.
So, fly home to some sort of safety.
To a place where you can
Huddle down
And wrap your feathers around you
To keep warm
Hide from harm and wait,
Now it’s getting late
But soon the days will become
Longer and lighter again.
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