She sits on a nest
In a small tree,
Unmoving; except for a sometime
Blink of an eye.
Her whole purpose now
Is to ensure that the eggs beneath her
Will bring forth more of her kind.
My dad told me he called doves rain crows,
Whenever he was a small boy,
Maybe he thought their sad song
Brought the rain
That kept him from playing outside,
But the rain crow I'm watching is silent,
She won't sing for quite some time,
But after her babies
Fly from the nest,
Whenever I hear her rain song again,
It will probably cause me to smile.
Bruce Mundhenke has worked as a laborer and a registered nurse. He enjoys nature and reading and writing poetry. He lives in Illinois with his wife and their dog and cat.