Mourning Dove

Coo-OOO-ooo-ooo-ooo

Your head is much too small for your stout, round body,
Your eyes are beady,
Your beak is pointy,
Your feathers a shade of pinkish-grey,
As soothing on the eyes as your call is on the ears

Your call reverberates,
It brings back memories,
Of summer evenings in the suburbs,
Of early mornings when you wake me up,
Sitting right outside my bedroom window

Coo-OOO-ooo-ooo-ooo