Wings and Missteps

The streetlights flicker, casting shadows long,

where pigeons gather, wings weak yet strong.

They shuffle and squawk, pick at crumbs on the stone,

a dance of survival, the city their home.

One foot crooked, it hops with a grace,

scraps from a sandwich litter the place.

In the cold night air, they strut with a flair,

feathers ruffled, defying despair.