She was there again this morning.
Just as she had been over the last four days
A weak homing pigeon sat quietly on the guttering of the cottage
Waiting patiently for some food.
All the neighbours and neighbours grandchildren are aware that she is about
They all spare her a quick look as they pass,
and we gossip briefly about her when they see me scattering corn on the road where she has realised food will be left
One of the kids has called her Bunty.
In the great scheme of things , a little life of a knackered old pigeon means absolutely nothing,
But do you know what?
to me, who it could be said shares a quiet village based little life
The fate of Bunty has become quite important