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
For other morning poems, try Birdsong or In the Morning, and for an ode to coffee, read In the Gray.
Resurrection Fern
I’ve recently written several poems with the same theme. Nature is very good at reclaiming what humans have taken away from her.
So true, Liz!
Thank you Margrit! On the word mourning–It had occurred to me in that moment, that the two doves could well be my parents, paying a compulsory visit to the new house they never saw in life but would have loved. 😔
But those doves have such personality, don’t they! I just read that they are also called turtle doves, as in the Christmas song.
The only time I see them here is in the morning, so it is no wonder that I should conflate the two terms. I expect they love the afternoon heat every bit as much as I do. 😊
How lovely to imagine your parents visiting that way! In German they are also Turteltauben.
What a lovely image to change the mourning dove into a morning dove! I love love to see and hear them morning to night all over the world—but especially in my garden. And your own garden inspires you to many of your best thoughts and poems, Andrea.