Alastair’s Photo Fiction

“Come on guys, it’s time to go. He had a good life until he hit that window” said Vinnie.

“We were the best of pals, weren’t we”, said Joey.

“Hey, I wrote an Eulogy for him” chimed Bobby. “It goes like this:”

“When newborn on his fledgling wings,
A pigeon dreamt of lofty things,
But elders warned of what’s in store,
“You’re just a pigeon. Nothing more.”

“Perhaps,” he thought, “I’ll be a swallow,
So swiftly flying none could follow,
Or maybe with great eagles soar!”
He was a pigeon. Nothing more.

“Or a poet! Scholar! Mathematician!
Saint, philosopher, great magician!
Like ravens, I’ll quote, ‘Nevermore!'”
Alas, a pigeon. Nothing more.

He dreamed of being other birds,
But in the end ’twas naught but words.
‘Twas just a pigeon–nothing more–
Who’d never heard of glass before”.

“I have something to inscribe on his tombstone” said Vinny.

“Accept the fact that some days you’re the pigeon and some days you’re the statue”.