When Doves Cry

By Mark David Blum, Esq.

I came upon a morning dove
One muggy summer’s day
I came upon a morning dove
In a most unusual way

While enjoying some moments at my pool
And relaxing with a book
I spied some kids running along
Kicking an injured bird along the brook

Curiosity getting the better of me
I sat up straight to watch
And there I saw the three little kids
My anger went up a notch

“Hay, What the Fuck Are You Doing?”
I yelled at those little shits
Before I could say it again
Their Dad came and had some fits

As that family meandered off
into the day so wet
I set my eyes upon that bird
And watched it struggle yet

“Hmmm”, said I
as I thought and saw
Hurt birds will die.
In the Jungle, that is law.

A thunderstorm was moving in
And I watched the bird just strugglin’
With every flap and flop and flip
My conscience was adjustin’

Eventually I could take no more
I had to step up and see
I ran on down and walked around
Until the injured bird spied me

I said to him “you cant stay here”
You’re lunch to any passing crow
Or hawk or eagle or even bear
They are around here, yaknow.

So I captured the bird and took a look
A miserable sight did I see
One wing eaten and the other badly beaten
Noway the bird could fly free

There we were, two broken sots
Out in the middle of the rain
The skies grew darker, and the thunder more loud
The lightening drove me insane

But huddled out there
up against a thick tree
The broken morning dove
and me

With every crack of lightening
I could feel his heart race a bit
Holding him safe against me
he thanked me by taking a shit

yes, a gift from my bird splattered all on my lap
mixed with feathers and blood. (Just great).
There’s noway to feed, to care or to treat him
Yet to ignore him would leave him as bait

The thunder got louder and the lightening grew worse
And we two sat there and soaked
Petting him slowly and showing him trust
Anything less and he would have croaked.

Eventually the skies grew momentarily dry
over the wounded morning dove and I
Out from under the tree came that bird and me
As we figured out how to say “bye”

I took him to a place I knew
Which was fenced and abundant bushes grew
A haven where he could find safety all around

I put him in there
so his life to spare
As he found some shelter on the ground

I pray in the coming days
His wings heal away
And he takes flight and can once again sing

And perhaps, just perhaps
One day. While doing my laps
He will swoop down and wave me a wing.

Back to the MarkBlum Report

It is always a far better thing
to have peace than to be right.
But, when it is not,
or when all else fails

P.O. Box 82
Manlius, New York 13104
Telephone: 315.420.9989
Emergency: 315.682.2901
E-mail: mdb@markblum.com

Always, at your service.