Wilyem Clark
09-29-2015, 11:09 AM
Dressed in saintly albino-white feathers,
The Dove curls in flight down to amber-waved shores
For his first visitation.
The pigeons embrace him as one of their own,
For he is not one of their bumptious brood,
Given to rancorous squawkings and feuds.
How refreshing! A bird that strolls without strut,
That's surrounded by jays and jacksnipe preeners,
That casts a bright light on these avians' shadows;
Not exactly a lark, but larks come to croon for him,
Ravens and swans alike bend their beaks.
The Dove holds court but does not tarry;
To idle long in foreign forests
Invites the mischief of cats and kites,
So, with much pomp, the Dove takes wing,
Gracefully spirals out of sight
With the ease of a cloud, a natural riser,
Leaving behind the flocks to fluster
Over what his fleeting appearance portends.
The Dove curls in flight down to amber-waved shores
For his first visitation.
The pigeons embrace him as one of their own,
For he is not one of their bumptious brood,
Given to rancorous squawkings and feuds.
How refreshing! A bird that strolls without strut,
That's surrounded by jays and jacksnipe preeners,
That casts a bright light on these avians' shadows;
Not exactly a lark, but larks come to croon for him,
Ravens and swans alike bend their beaks.
The Dove holds court but does not tarry;
To idle long in foreign forests
Invites the mischief of cats and kites,
So, with much pomp, the Dove takes wing,
Gracefully spirals out of sight
With the ease of a cloud, a natural riser,
Leaving behind the flocks to fluster
Over what his fleeting appearance portends.