When the springtime morning
breaks your heart because
it reminds you of so many others…
in the air the mourning dove flutters.

The flowers bloom again insanely,
glowing with the mad truth,
“How could you not know?
Everything and you must go.”

Something must surely die
so that something can be born.
It’s a step along the winding way,
a closing of the weary day.

The gentle rain soothes me.
My dove calls to me from a tree,
mournfully and sweet she calls,
and the sound carries me away.



Syd Weedon
May 27, 2021