There they are.

Moving through the square shoulder to shoulder

in determined advance.

An army of two-legged soldiers on alert to procure

what they wait all night for.

There on the pavement, between blades of grass;

there lay the prize they will surely not pass.

There’s plenty for all, and a little for each.

It is right there, placed right within reach.

“Run quick” called the Pigeon. “Grab what you need.

Here come the Starlings! Meet you back at the tree!”