The Doves Poem by Martin Lochner

This one singular morning in my hurt
I saw the tenderness of two turtle doves
closely huddled together in some gutter

Preening each other, cooing songs
of a soft warm feathery gladness that
celebrated to be alive and together

their adoration surpassing gilded, gold leaved
song books of ancient bards and roaming troubadours

an immortal daily melody of truth for everyone to hear
But the revelatory winged beauty and a fine lesson of the heartfelt

Missed to hurriedly catch the grinding labour of the loco machine
Screeching love right out of its window as it leaves the station