Aging Dove - Poem #52

Her call is growing weak
and her wings are turning gray
Where will she go
the aging dove of peace?

Young kites and crows laugh
knowing that her time has passed
while she sings in delusion
that anyone is listening.

Will an old lover
indulge her aging passion?
or a sweet young girl
grind her favorite seed to eat?

Perhaps  a sympathetic tree
will grant her a lowly branch
to sit where the neighbors
don’t know about her past.

Or grandma’s window sill
with it’s potted plants,
where she can sing at funerals
mourning her friends.

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