Gather

I haven’t enough ambition
To be a pigeon
Among the dozen or so
(I lack even the motivation
To count them)
Bending their grey backs
In front of me, picking
At the grass and soil
With a patient resolve
So outside my disposition
That it would tire me
Just to envy it.
But to be so beautiful
In such simplicity,
So by chance-
This is a thing to revere.