Aging Dove

Her call is growing weak
and her wings are turning gray
Where will she go
the aging dove of peace?

Young kites and crows laugh
knowing that her time has passed
while she sings in delusion
that anyone is listening.

Will an old lover
indulge her aging passion?
or a sweet young girl
grind her favorite seed to eat?

Perhaps she can find a sympathetic tree
to grant her the lowest branch, 
to sit where the neighbors
don’t know about her past.

Or perhaps grandma’s window sill
with it’s potted plants,
where she can sing at funerals
mourning her friends.

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