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Dove

Four Mourning Doves

Four mourning doves and two weeping willows,
where the road turned and puddles interspersed began,
keep walking, a new stripped broken twig in hand.

Alongside the canal separating the island
the steel concrete bridge spanned...
Fire ISland ferry slip nearby, spring becomes ready.

Only fir and bordering evergreens bear foliage,
the rest of trees and shrubs unhurried spring young,
lawns false green colouring chemically fed.

Muddled through meandering, turn or ahead,
a dog barked tied not free, a match not for me,
the aviary quartet ambled on, beneath one gracing willow.

The earth slept, I had witnessed the centered heart
momentarily stir, felt the whispered beat.
Late afternoon sightseeing... renewal not defeat.

May 2003

Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York.


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