poem

Mourning Doves in Nature

Hear the soft coo-cooing that faithful love imparts, mourning doves, sharing their beating hearts.

On lofty eaves, build nests of winter pine and twigs, Keeping their eggs close to their breasts.

Oval shaped, snowy white, they hatch and come alive; A brood grows and will survive.

Plump bodies speckled in gray and black; Take flight with fanned out tails that reveal a fringe of white.

The warm summer is nearing its end, Mourning Doves and Fledglings Together, will ascend; blue skies headed for the border of Mexico.

-Paulette Calasibetta