Poetry Collection

I Heard the Mourning Dove Again

I heard the Mourning Dove again,
For the first time in eight years,
I smelled the dew gathered on the grass,
Watched it mingle with my tears.
A somber morning on my own,
The sun for once not shining,
I heard the Mourning Dove again,
It's song, like mine, pining.
I felt the damp earth on my knees,
The grass between my fingers,
A breath robbed from me by the breeze,
An aching pain that lingers,
I wished for years to share this day,
With you and a lazy cup of coffee,
But now I sit and listen instead,
To the Mourning Dove inside me.
To think I traded what we had,
In search for something new,
To think I thought I'd ever learn,
To live, to love, without you.
But still I see the V-shaped flight,
Of the stronger winged creatures,
And see you leave forevermore,
For brighter, warmer features.
I feel the frost bite into me,
I feel the regret confiding,
The Mourning Dove is nesting soon,
And its song echoes inside me.
I brace for the winter and its cruelty,
I brace for your absence,
I feel the impact of the floor,
I feel my wings shattering.
I heard the Mourning Dove again,
I heard it calling to me,
I heard its song between the trees,
And within, your name resounding.