The Dove

Once upon a noonday sunny, while I smiled at something funny
In the park where children play and suitors woo,
’Midst the sound of subtle flapping, suddenly I got a crapping;
On my cheek I felt it slapping, warm and wet and slimy, too,
And my uncontrolled reaction to the foul, repugnant goo
Was a squeamish “Eww-ew-ewww!”

Soon my shock assumed a passion of a duly fiercer fashion,
For the bough above disclosed a damning clue:
There a shapely dove was lurking, all her guilt and duty shirking,
Unconcerned and coyly smirking, just to see what I would do.
“Fiend!” I cried, “You’ll feel my vengeance!” but this only made her coo,
Sighing softly, “Toodle-oo.”

Whereupon, with madness growing, I picked up a stone for throwing,
As but slightly farther off she lightly flew,
But my aim was rash confusion and it met with no conclusion,
So in spite of my delusion there was nothing I could do.
Now my heart will not get over how she crooned her calm adieu:
“Toodle-ooo-oo, toodle-oo.”

Ed Morris, 2018

(With apologies to Edgar Allan Poe, author of The Raven.)

This page copyright © 2018 Edward A. Morris.  Created September 9, 2018.  Last updated September 19, 2018.

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