A COOING DOVE
Very early this morning I heard the cooing of a dove,
A sad kind of sound, like a heart thwarted by love,
The bird must have been in the tree by the window,
It filled me with longing as my head lay on the pillow.

The cooing was not answered, just one solitary sound,
I looked through the window, there lying on the ground
Was another dove, the one calling in vain for it’s mate
I wondered how long did it call? How long did it wait?

Later I saw a lone dove pecking sadly among the seed,
Strutting then stopping to look up, calling in the weeds,
During the long cold winter the pair had struggled through,
But death struck just as spring came sweet hope to renew.

Can a dove die from a broken heart? I would like to know,
For after pecking around for awhile, no joy or hope did show,
It sat huddled in a corner of the garden still calling softer now,
The cooing seemed less hopeful, yet the call carried far somehow.

Still there came no sweet answer, to that pleading heartfelt cry,
I must admit that I had a sad tear or two glisten in my sad eye,
We had to go out, but my heart stayed there with the poor dove,
I wondered if it would ever recover from the loss of it’s love.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson 1 April 2004