The Lost Dove

The Lost Dove

She comes to me, with tears in her eyes.
Her green cotton dress, touched with child made mud pies.
I ask for the reason that her heart is sad.
She shows an empty charm bracelet, given by her dad.
The field of flowers, where her play began.
Clouds rolling over head, with a white puppy Stan.
I dust off my hands, and walk to a tree.
There played the happy Stan, who scratched a pesky flea.
When out of his hair, that looked like a mess.
Was the charm of a dove that his tangled hair possessed.
That night by the time the family went to sleep.
Dad’s labor of love put the dove where it would keep.


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