A MOURNING DOVE

First she build a nest.

Under our porch awning.

Next she sitting on her nest.

Than, I heard some noise.

Now she feeding three.

Soon all will be gone.

All we will have left.

Are memories.

~ Ricardo

This poem is about:

My community

My country

Our world

Comments

9 years ago

Last night, I notice the location of her nest.

She placed it with enough room.

Where she might sleep next to her chicks.

Birds are much more than what we take them for.

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