fly by w.s. merwin

I have been cruel to a fat pigeon Because he would not fly All he wanted was to live like a friendly old man He had let himself become a wreck filthy and confiding Wild for his food beating the cat off the garbage Ignoring his mate perpetually snotty at the beak Smelling waddling having to be Carried up the ladder at night content Fly I said throwing him into the air But he would drop and run back expecting to be fed I said it again and again throwing him up As he got worse He let himself be picked up every time Until I found him in the dovecote dead Of the needless efforts So this is what I am Pondering his eyes that could not Conceive that I was a creature to run from I who have always believed too much in words