The Flock of Pigeons

By Mahathi Vinodkrishna

Up on top a hedge so high,

Home, to where the flock had flown.

Grey and black had paddled the sky,

and settle, they did on the stone so worn.

Lives had blossomed, stories were sung,

Their burden on the old rod was hung.

The day was anew when the pigeons did fight,

With peace anew, whose to enjoy the light?

At the heart of the riot, a bird with feathers so bright.

They argued, among grey and black, why was there white?

As the dispute went forth, the little bird did rise,

Used its small wings to fly away,

Thought its departure would suffice.

The sky, which was too black and grey,

Took it in its arms that day

By Mahathi Vinodkrishna