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: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world

Comments

MillRatUSMC aka Ricardo

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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