This is another morning poem, celebrating the sacred hour, each day, before humankind takes over the world. Perhaps it will help us all to think about what, if anything, any one of us can really, truthfully call “mine.” Thanks for coming by to read.
I saw a pair of mourning doves
Upon my patch of green,
Such precious little mourning doves
As you have ever seen.
They strutted back and looked askance,
As if I had intruded–
Increased the human traffic
Of the day–and so colluded
To scare them off from grubbing worms
And pecking gravel, whole.
I looked around and saw my garden,
Riotous and full,
Exuberantly mocking me,
With finery and show,
Its flowers bowing blooming heads,
Disguising what they know,
And claiming ownership,
And sinking roots so dense and deep,
Implying they’d be there
Long past the company they keep.
I looked again upon the walk,
With plants that squeezed between
Each mortared stone, and stood their ground
As if I’d never been,
And while I was distracted,
Morning coffee on my lips,
My pretty little doves flew off,
Escaped my fingertips.
Copyright 2022 Andrea LeDew