At My Feet

As soon as I sit

There’s a bird at my feet,

Just checking to see

If I’ve something to eat.

 

I don’t feed the pigeons

Or sparrows I see.

The crumbs that they want

Come from others, not me.

 

They soon figure out

That no treats I’ll supply,

So a couple of pecks,

And they take to the sky.

 

I’ll give them some credit

For trying, at least.

Each person who sits

Holds a possible feast.

 

Reminds me of those

Who play Lotto each week.

They never give up

As their fortune they seek.

 

The odds are the same

As the pigeons who’ve been

Thinking one of these days

They will certainly win!