What is that?
What is that upon my ears which does it flow?
A crow.
A sorrowful crow it crows.
The crow of the mourning dove.
An answer not found, for a question not understood.
This dove of mourning in which it was named,
why such a saddened call?
Does it so taste sorrow upon the tongue?
Thoughts and memories held,
anticipating to suffocating.
Asphyxiating to knowledged waiting.
Does it know?
Can it know?
A reason which burdens a race in sorrowful song?
What is this?
A melody upon my ears?
Sweet, tough one wrought in mourning.
Another day upon our earth,
the mourning dove does so call.
Another night beneath our moon,
the mourning dove does so crow.
Another time beseech-d in life.
The mourning dove does so sing.
So sung it's mourning song.
What is that?
Thought of the mourning dove,
again it calls