The Mourning Doves Poem by kendall thomas

The mourning doves have taken flight
above the village, plains and heights.
And now all the stars are gone
having disappeared with the dawn.

The old men sit in the square.
Some whittle sticks, some nod, and others stare.

'Used to be a dirt road, ' one would say.
'Yep, I remember well; it was only clay.'
'Remember that teacher gal, what's her name? '
'I remember her, ' another claims.
'So pretty. Used to see her walkin' by.'
'She's gone now, ' another sighs.
'That was long ago. Before the road was paved.'
'Killed herself over that slim feller.'
'That's what they say. So pretty she was and gay.'
'Yep, I remember him. Never a nicer feller in the world.
But somethin' went wrong that day.'
'Maybe he killed her - that's what some say.'
'Right after, he disappeared; went far away.'

'She sure were purty. I saw her walkin'
down the road that day. It was dirt then,
only clay. Years before they paved.
She waved at me.
Yeah, at me. Oh, that made my day.'

'Whadahyuh suppose could've happened? '
'Who knows; it's only guessin'; who can say? '
'Ah me, such a long time ago. Long before the road was
paved.'