Pigeons,
not very smart things
just like the one who checks it
always at the wrong place
at the wrong time
saying the wrong things
night and day
day and night
the world spins and unexpectedly
stops, hidden away in the dark
under the tree which burned
like daylight and churned
hot butter. Weeping days
on the beach and crying days
on the bed, while time passes away
under the pigeon's wings it goes.
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