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.