When on the country roads...

Photo by Pavel S on Unsplash

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              When on the Country Roads 

Listen, 
All I hear is the mourning dove
Her lament is gentle 
yet persistent
I nod. 
A low groan escapes me 

         —Whatever for? 

I get to move my body
I get to see Spring 
in full 
I get to hear the song of 
the mourning dove 
to smell fresh-cut alfalfa 

Maybe the low groan 
is not one of despair 
But— 
of praise. 

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