They land with delicate step
to watch with eyes
so serious
to fly again
if we come to close

Their lives are lived
in harsh gray landscapes
they beg for clean skies
their crys echo down forlorn streets

In wet shadows of winter
under structures which
tower above them they shiver

Still you can hear
the sound of soft wings
fluttering when all is still in the city
and the drip of water is loud
in the silence
and the cry of the dove
hangs in the air
to echo in our dreams
of a green space where
we can watch them
dance in the sky
in a dream

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