There is a hint of warmth back in the air,
And the mourning doves are back to mourn me,
Cooing their familiar song
Because every spring they return
They no longer recognize me.
The gray-feathered birds eat seeds in the yard
And perch on rooftops and tree branches
To cry out in sorrow.
They cry because another version of me is dead.
Mar 4, 2024
Mar 4, 2024 at 2:16 PM UTC
There is a hint of warmth back in the air,
And the mourning doves are back to mourn me,
Cooing their familiar song
Because every spring they return
They no longer recognize me.
The gray-feathered birds eat seeds in the yard
And perch on rooftops and tree branches
To cry out in sorrow.
They cry because another version of me is dead.
