Positure

  Once, looking back,   my tracks   left in the    snow
  Seemed pigeon-toed and    rambling   hereandthere
  And   barely   showing where I meant   to go
  And   never really   getting   anywhere,

  So I resolved to walk a straighter line
  With better posture and a clearer goal,
     And in my mind the tracks I left behind
  Were perfect pictures of a pristine soul,

  Until,   unsatisfied,   I turned around
  To see   my legacy and   take account,
  Which  caused my steps to   weave   from
  edge to edge;
  My back   re-bent,   and   I began   to sway;
  And on my cue, a pigeon on a ledge
     Stretched out its sturdy wings
     and flew  away.