The Doves

The doves arrive,  gentle creatures
 heads bobbing as they walk,
  plucking stray seeds blown free across the ground.
Paired matches, clutching together
 in the softly shadowed rays
  of early morning sun to welcome the day.
Peerless counterparts,  solitary and alone
 scanning the demarcation zones
  marked and policed by energetic squirrels.
Boundaries are set, locked in place
 periphery margins of time and space 
  held orderly by the season.
Winter, spring, majestic intertwined interludes
 painted purple, black, blue, creamy orange
  by intermittent cold and warmth rising and falling.
Signs of the time, forewarning harbingers
 of time cycled in conscientious discreteness
  dandle acclimation to greet the age of change.
The doves come, peering through the gleam
 of light and its reflected mirrored surfaces
  long methodic glances at the systematic march of time.

birdearthseasonstimefree verse

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