ME (05/31/1962 / NJ)

A Tale Of Three Pigeon's

Every morning at seven I left for the office for the day
And would arrive at the garage twenty minutes later
I always parked on the second story of the lot
Because the trip to the stair case there was a short way.

Anyway when my car was parked in my daily station
I often listened to the radio or a cd for a few minutes
Before I would gather myself and head to my cubicle
Those last moments prepared me for my expectations.

Near by my car was a lot where pigeon's gathered daily
I got to know a particular family of these birds rather well
Each morning a group of three doves gathered in the lot
One homer was highly pregnant and couldn’t fly orderly.

It seemed that the lot was a perfect spot for breeding
High above were protective beams as thought they seemed
Those birds took them as if they belonged to them alone
The corners seemed warm for a home and feeding.

Up went the parent as the squabs harnessed for the moment
Every day these birds gathered debris from the ground
And restored the den hoping to keep the mother warm
It seemed to be an arduous and difficult assignment.

Sadly one day I arrived at the job to see the cause absent
I wondered what had happened to the little cradle above
Those pouters toiled so digilantly to prepare the abbess
For a moment in there lives that seemed not persistent.

I saw my answer in a somber way for my human eyes
An egg lay broken in half not far from my automobile
Straw and grass were scattered all around the rubbish
It was ever tragic to see this tale end in a ruthless style.

As time went on, I saw the remaining two birds fly around
But one day, I saw a pigeon squashed along the roadside
I cried for a moment feeling pity for this helpless victim
A car in the lot obviously ran it down making no sound.

First, there were three birds, and now there was only one
Soon maybe none, how somber that would be for that family
One morning, I glanced at the lone survivor staring at death
He looked lost and afraid in the world standing there alone.

When I got out of the car he flew away in fear of me
But when I left the office that night I saw the end
The last of the three turbid lay bleeding on the path way home
I bellowed a moment and said now those doves are really free.

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Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

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