Thinking


A dove has settled on the "i" of my thinking.
She nestles there
with the sweet smell of earth and pine,
but I can't tell if she is comforting me
or making herself comfortable.

Perhaps the "i" of my thinking is so over grown,
So hidden by fallen leaves
and the debris of dreams,
that she finds it to be nothing more
than a suitable place to build a nest.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem