In rain-soaked twilight, a pigeon stands,
A sentinel of decay, in a city’s worn hands.
Her eyes, like ancient wisdom, deep and wide,
Survey the rain-lashed landscape, where hope and dreams reside.

Her feathers, gray as stone, blend with the rainy tone,
Her coo, a melancholy sigh, a lament for what’s been lost, alone.
Yet, in her gaze, a glimmer of hope does shine,
A beacon in the darkness, a light divine.

In her wings, a message is sent,
Of a city’s resilience, and its intent.
To rise, to heal, to rebuild, and to thrive,
A pigeon’s spirit, that forever survives.