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“What would you like to be someday?”
“A pigeon.”
I always thought it'd be nice to be a pigeon: easy access to food and beloved by mankind. That is, until I learned we don't treat pigeons with the respect they deserve (with their ancestors being war-heroes and all.) Until then, I thought I could live as any respectable, preferably flying, bird. Those dreams of living a peaceful life soaring the skies were crushed when I found out that almost 3 billion birds have been lost in just North America since the 1970s (and a great number of birds crashing into windows, leading to their deaths). Although birds have greatly benefited us, and still do, many people are unaware of what they actually do besides startle farmers awake at 6am. This poem was written to call attention to the tragedy our sky-bound heroes meet.
