The pigeon swooped in for a landing
And
settled itself on the rail,
Surveying
the chop of the river,
So
cocky it must have been male.
Though
varied in grays on its body,
Its
neck shone with purple and green,
A
common enough iridescence,
Like
many a pigeon I’ve seen.
It
didn’t stay long in the sunshine
And
soon, with a flap of its wings,
It
soared on the breeze heading skyward,
In
search of more pigeon-type things.
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