Crisp air chills the fountain spray
Snow drifts echo marble white

Cooing heart, Cyrene serenity
Old woman sits on cold stone bench

Paloma, woman with silvered hair
Bun tied back, but strand still flies
Hands engaged in feeding birds
Love shows even through dulling eyes

Paloma's pennies saved for bread
Mustard shawl is showing wear
The pigeons come closer each time
Arthritic fingers dole out her care

Rats scurry and pigeons take flight
Accusing tut-tutting of feathered wings
Soothing and gentle, Paloma calls them
Slowly, they spiral to dine like kings

"Ahhh yes, pretty pretty birds..."
She says as she throws more crumbs
Hoping the Sky Lord will remember her
And take her away when He comes

The clouds sweep by in the icy sky
And Paloma pulls her shawl about her

The crumbs suddenly cease to fall
Silver-winged pigeon rises to heaven

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Ero, in the year 387 AF.