The Call Of A Wood Pigeon Poem by Philippa Lane
The Call Of A Wood Pigeon
Lying awake in my dormitory
I listen and from far away
I hear a bird calling me -
Softly it comes,
Softly it goes,
Inviting,
Exciting
My tame contentment -
Leading me to suppose
Its owner is a kingly bird.
Softly it comes,
Softly it goes.
And where the firs, dark, morose
Their red barks set close
On damp-mossened ground -
There is the source
And loud is the sound.
1951, England)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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7/30/2026 10:28:22 PM # rel_20260727T173023Z_37e450e
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