Bored he was,
With the weekly routine:
Getting dressed in his best suit
Being polite and respectful
Slowly walking behind his elders
Deep in contemplation
To the holy shrine
Forced to keep silent
On the straight path
Like everyone else head hung low
With eyes lowered to the ground
Excluding the world around
When the sun shone,
And the wind sung
Through the trees
The sudden sight of the pigeon
Gave birth to a winning smile
Lighting his face
He recognised it
He pointed to it
A heavy hand settled on his shoulder
To keep him in line
He didn't mind
He knew he had a friend
Waiting for him.
Lucette C. Bailliet
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