The Dove

How quiet is the dove who sits alone;
was only yesterday she sang along.
They nuzzled,cheek to cheek, with coo and moan
a murmuring, steadfast and loving song.

How quiet is her world as there’s no choice
and colder than the frost upon the gate,
there’s chilling desperation in her voice
as she returns to find there is no mate.

But soothing calls come from this solemn bird.
With sad-eyed courage, now, she lifts her head.
The wind will tell her story, often heard
and so each life will hear her haunting dread.

How proud the dove who coos upon that limb;
who sings for us an everlasting hymn.