The Pigeon’s Transformation
Pigeons are migrant workers
All huddling into place
They congregate in cities
Gorging on human waste
But when they’ve had enough
And taken all they can
They rise up high and exit
The detritus world of man
They head to the countryside
Where nature rules and reigns
And in this land of pleasantry
A pigeon’s heart remains
When the working shift is over
Every pigeon has a chore
To rinse, to wash and repeat
Cleaning feather, beak and claw
And when they’ve finished cleaning
They rise to soar high above
You’ll see that each washed pigeon
Is actually a dove.
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