The Poor Little Dove
The Poor Little Dove/Michael Kwack
To watch the wave play with the wind,
I sat by the museum garden pond.
Then a small pigeon came flying,
Landed to her feet, tiny and cute,
And stared up at me, a bit intensely,
Only blinking her eyes, no other move.
She was standing like a camera model,
And I recalled my infanthood pictures.
I started taking some photos of her,
But she seemed not very pleased.
Wanna eat something, dove?
I thought, but not said.
Wanna say something, little dove?
I thought again, but not said.
For I didn't have cookies even in crumbs,
And couldn't speak with my heavily shut mouth.
I thought I saw her pretty eyes closed,
And even felt she looked somewhat sad.
Yet I continued shooting, because it was
The only thing I could do for the little bird.
Now she's flown away, leaving me alone
Still on the quiet pond-side bench.
Only gazing toward the waveless water,
I sigh a hidden sigh in my white Covid mask.