What Do the Doves Say?
Dawn's orchard blooms in the eastern crevice,
Where sky and earth turn away,
Firstfruits of the day ripening along the horizon.
Doves rest nestled,
Dew softening from feathers down,
Whispering the night-gossip
In tones of grey and blue.
What does the murmur speak?
Lessons called from soul's depth,
On night and dark and dawn and right?
Social chatter of friends,
Who with whom and what with which?
Or a lullabye to the moon's pale face,
Her eyes closing in sleep as she fades?
What do the doves say,
So early in the morning?