Little Saint
Windy sunny funny days in hurry
In my home I dine and slept in merry
One day from blue landed on my terrace
Lonely dove came ill and still to scare us.
Not a vet to consult in this dark time
Like a drunkard tripping falling at times
When I lend my helping hand for his lift
Angry murmur heard I while he makeshift.
Like a waiter waited with his grand food
Not a stir or happy face my guest stood
No grain no drink he made for four long days
Little dove saint kept on barring my prays.
Prying peeping praying for his prime life
Hearing, stretching wings he fly heaven safe.
Honorable Mention in STRAND NO 730,any theme,any form Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
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