O mourning dove!
To the songs you sing,
I and my closed eyes listen—
With love—
Until the morning's sun's setting,
Its golden motes seeping into my skin;
Once it’s asidely shoved,
Don’t bid it farewell—
The waiting moon.
Oh! and, my mourning dove,
Prepare, though don’t you dwell;
You will sing us again soon.
Just fly above,
Fluttering with a buoyant bluebell,
Whispering to its ears your mournful croons
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Author:
Mya H. (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 28th, 2024 12:55
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 37
Offline)
Comments1
Beautiful, mournful and full of the wistfulness very nicely written
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