Philippa Lane

Rookie (March 7th,1941 / Chichester, West Sussex, England)

The Call Of A Wood Pigeon - Poem by Philippa Lane

Lying awake in my dormitory
I listen and from far away
I hear a bird calling me -
Softly it comes,
Softly it goes,
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)

Comments about The Call Of A Wood Pigeon by Philippa Lane

  • (6/4/2006 12:41:00 PM)

    You are the Queen of Imagery and the Lady of Colors! Truly wonderful work.

    Patricia Gale
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Read poems about / on: poem, red, dark, night, running

Poem Submitted: Sunday, March 6, 2005

Poem Edited: Friday, October 6, 2006

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