My Father's Doves

Strung about the Christmas Tree
They lie in wait for one short flight
So briefly alighting upon firred boughs
    Daren't blink, lest they be missed
    On their last briefly-seasoned night


Lighted from without you'll see
Internal luminescence dark
No matter, brightly they still glow
    Handle carefully, they are fragile yet
    Before into rest they do embark


Glitter-skinned, no feathers plumed
And years-worn showing through
I see you there, at Christmas time
    Your presence felt through empty space
    Your doves, and I, miss you.






Christmas 2011
In Memoriam