Pigeon Shuffle

Under the leafless tree they shuffle,

feathers ragged, wings half-open.

Pecking cracked pavement for a crumb,

the world ignoring, cold and frozen.

One steps forward, eyes scanning low,

a scrappy dance of shadowed hope.

Persistence bent, but not undone—

a quiet fight beneath the sun.

The wind pulls hard, but still they stay,

stubborn scraps keep dark at bay.