What is the point of a pigeon?
Have you ever pondered this thought?
I’ve scanned the books, all religions,
And believe this bird to be a rort.
There you waddle, pecking at refuse;
Fat head bobbles, you coo and scratch;
And you can home (that’s no excuse);
Those other birds you cannot match.
But God must’ve something in His mind:
A niche, a role for you my friend;
In pity I wink, reason sure to find;
Stop this poem reaching a sad end.
But now white goo splatters my eye;
Then a wink from pigeon up on high!