The mourning doves have
flown away.
In the back yard, the
branches of the chinaberry are
bare.
No more sighing song
cooed from mate to mate in
the morning light.
Here,
they've nothing left to grieve.
SEACowles
Sad.. like you lost something or someone but you see them in places still.. i liked it.. but somehow the flow was strange..
This brought back memories, no chinaberry tree, but the mourning doves calling to each other, always reminds me of my grandmother's house. I used to lie awake in bed listening to them, and feel sad.
Your poem did the same thing.
JP