Some Little Thoughts

It sat on a tree, alone and free,
Not caring, I assumed,
That I was watching it,
While it was watching me. 

The dove’s delay was for most of the day,
Not caring, so it seemed,
That it had no food,
And no mate with whom to stay. 

It cooed oft-times, songs, filled with rhymes,
Not caring, still, I thought,
That, as its songs, wafted through the leaves,
The wind disguised the melodies too many times. 

It grew thin, poor little bird of spring.
And, then, it died.
It fell from the bough.
Now, the world will never hear it sing. 

It died. I frowned; then, I cried.
Just like that its little heart had stopped.
It had fallen to the soft sod,
Not making a sound: I sighed and sighed. 

I railed at this sight: It could not be right!
I wanted  so very much to cry.
The dove: Beautiful, innocent bird of life,
Had gone for all times. Death: Life’s enigmatic plight. 

I thought: What lesson had been taught
To me and all mankind?
Why did that little bird die?
Now, it is gone. Havoc, having been wrought. 

The dove’s cooing quotes, leaves indelible notes,
Amid the flora, stating life’s meaning for all,
For not to understand the simple message suggests
We do not fully know what life connotes. 

The message, left by the dove,
Was profound, yet very clear:
Life is not living,
Without care, without love. 

Man treasures many things:
Money; power; and, especially fame;
But nothing is more precious
That the gift that love brings.