One Mourning Dove
One Mourning Dove
At my kitchen table
On a cold and sunny day,
A gray dove spied and stared at me,
He took my mind away.
So still he sat outside my window,
Puffed fat against the cold,
Once I think I heard him mourn,
So still we stayed, he bold.
He ate my bread this morning,
Pigged the birds’ sunflower seeds,
Could he be telling me “Thank You?”
Or “Give me more, more, pretty please?”
My attention would stay upon that bird,
My book unread, the day waiting,
A dove studying me, I studying him,
Our way of communicating.
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