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Mourning Dove

Poetry, Day 10: Pleasure, Sonnet, Apostrophe

morning_dew

To know you, to hold you; is a blessing;
Forgo you I shall not, be mine to keep.
And although there are times I am stressing,
you hold me close should I grow tired and weep.

You bring with you the scent of morning dew,
Your dewy droplets rain upon my face.
Washing away my weariness and blues;
Showering me with your love and your grace.

Bequeathed to me your boundless wells of love;
A gift I cannot keep for only me,
But how to awaken this mourning dove,
When her wings remain folded at her feet?

Lift these shrouds so she might fly
you are her wind, her stars and sky.

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