O Pigeons!

O pigeons, on your cornice white
Can I join you above the squallor of the ground
Where there are no spitters, smokers, and angry red-faced men
Can I sit with my friends and brothers in the thin, clean sunlight, quietly preening while
The din of daily humanity echoes harmlessly from below
Would you mind if I flew up to join you on the curled corner of an ancient building
Made by men long gone and quiet now

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