A Mourning Dove Without a Mate
’Twas every daybreak, in the old birdbath, you two hopped.
Watching from my chamber window, I smiled and stopped.
Splashing one another with tears from rainclouds past,
You both gave a love to one another so vast.
You first beheld her on a picket in the rosy twilight—
And how her small heart leapt in her feathered bosom with such might!
But now you wonder why she rests gently on her side,
With her soft head drooping and her tiny eyes half-wide.
Through many a tempest your nest did endure;
Yet presently, of this storm, you feel unsure.
And thus—now—you wonder why she rests quietly on her side,
With her silken wings unmoving and her tiny eyes half-wide.
Into sunsets and sunrises, you flew always as two.
‘We’ll be together forever, and beyond,’ you both knew.
How you think and ponder why she rests so stiffly on her side,
With her beak partially open and her tiny eyes half-wide.
’Twas this morning when she last laid her head atop yours,
Remembering this, you weep—like when a raincloud pours.
‘Why,’ you sigh, ‘do you sleep so soundly on your side?’
‘Surely you see me? For your dear eyes are half-wide!’
In harmony did your affectionate hearts beat;
Especially when your musical coos would meet.
‘A rest so pure,’ you reason, as she reposes on her side,
‘She must see only dreams,’ you say, observing her eyes half-wide.
‘Why don’t you wake up?’ you question with each peck,
Nudging and pushing your head against her neck.
Then, at last, amidst a long, lonely hour quite late,
You realize you are a mourning dove without a mate.
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