There in a town, not too far, not too close,
Lived a pigeon of fame, with a purpose grandiose.
He'd flap to the office, and to everyone's delight,
He’d drop off memos, from a spectacular height.
He'd discuss the stocks, or the economy's state,
While pecking at crumbs - yes, life was great.
He'd attend all the meetings, in the boardroom aloof,
Perched on the chandelier, away from the roof.
When the day was over, to the rooftop he'd retire,
Exchanging coos with the town’s night choir.
Sometimes on weekends, for a change of scene,
He'd fly to the park, feathers preened and pristine.
With a bagel in beak, he'd stroll around,
The sight of him was joy unbound.
Yet beneath the fame, the work, the glow,
Was a pigeon who loved to take it slow.
A lover of sunsets, a connoisseur of seeds,
A friend to all, doing good feathery deeds.
In a tiny nest, made with love and straw,
He'd ponder the world with respectful awe.
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