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.
Copyright © DM Babbit | Year Posted 2017
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