Friendly neighbor, he watches me in confusion.
A gargoyle I am, I reign above the community.
My selection in position baffles him.
Why does one decisively taste the cold wind in height?
Also, why does one remain stone and gray?
Sanctity, addictively gasping for potent air.
Potable, the precipitation floods my desert canyon.
My companion in residence shows concern.
I assure him my ability to glide protects me.
Respectively, he denies the possibility.
A fleeing flock siphons the oxygen above.
Floating, conserving windy revenue.
He still claims his question of why, has not been answered.
The granite blanket is my nesting ground.
Savages who walk the ground pollute the marvelous wealth of air.
Up, here I evade the intoxication, I defog the smog.
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