Mourning Dove

Oh mourning Dove, why are you mourning, Love?
Can’t you see how I empathize with thee?
The evening’s done and all that’s left for me
is a rising sun and its hot curelty
the warmth he brings does make me sing,
but like you Dove, I do
want to rip off my wings.

A bathe in the rays leaves us in a daze
while the sorrowful band just plays and plays
That good morning tune has more solemn in June
as the morning Dove mourns
the scorched rows of corn,
crack beneath my feet,
I inhale the scent of wheat
burned in this heat,
leaving us with none to eat

Oh mourning Dove,
Where summer nights had life
the summers rest is death,
the Earth’s warm breath
that causes sweat to drip
and minds to rip,
that pours down trees,
no shadows to be seen,
but leaves the land scortched and torched
and in us hopes of Summer Nights
not close enough to make things right,
but mourning— oh- Dove,
your sweet song sings along the cautious shades of blues,
fading out of view,
you lament the loss of summers true Boss
and as the curtain of night is drawn back,
we await summer’s daylight attack.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Part of my Searching for Summer Nights compilation.

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