The Vulture

Slowly swirling downward, like water down a drain

On the ground lies a hurt pigeon, its courage finally slain

Through its mind runs memories of where once was grass growing tall

But now just a smoke-spewing train

The vulture lands on its talons, peering upon its prey

Once again, the pigeon has nothing to say

The foe lets out a single cry before he begins his feast

For what he does to the to the small bird, he cares the very least

The vulture takes flight again, like a brown feathery cloud

The pigeon limps away, unsure of what to do now

He swears “Never again!” and stands tall like a chiseled sculpture

But up in the air, he still spins around—

You can never escape the Vulture

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