Mourning Doves

by Peter Notehelfer Lew Schnellmann
Lew Schnellmann

Mourning doves

Come down at dusk

Out of the heat of the hills

To cool their throats

Along the shore 


The wild grains

Of a long afternoon

Still gorged in their crops

With the gravel grit

Gathered at dawn


It’s then at twilight

With parched throats

Cleansed by cool streams

They begin their songs

Cooing in the night


Till in the darkness

A man can fall asleep

To the tender whisperings

Souls so love-haunted

That they must sing


4 Comments to “Mourning Doves”

  1. “tender whisperings” could easily describe your poetry

  2. My smile started just with the first line…and continued. You just brought me one step closer to summer.

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