The brood doves’ consort is a Highland Piper,
A silhouette upon a peaked neighbors roof,
Where he broods in grief
Too late had she returned to the nest,
Past the warmth of summer,
Now into autumn’s cool,
Yet there she is, twigs up to her breast
On a nest upon the driveway lamp,
An end of summer’s endurance test
How much longer can she guard a clutch
Who’s chance of hatching isn’t much,
Or will she sit on them all fall
Under the watching Piper’s pall
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