Out from the pale outcrop
Of the poorly kept moldy yellow rooftop
A pigeon sits all by itself
Pigeons, wearing their grey and black
Feathery plumes, live in groups
Family and friends alike
From birth to their tombs
But this pigeon
On its lonely truss
Could only watch
As the other birds fulfilled
Their lust for attention.
They floated in the blue
Wings beat as they flew
Without their
“Friend”
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