Poems, poets, poetry, writing, poetry challenges
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oracletown.com
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
“tender whisperings” could easily describe your poetry
You are too kind, Paul . . .
My smile started just with the first line…and continued. You just brought me one step closer to summer.
Thanx, Heather . . .
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