Fluttering fan shaped leaves, this canopy
Hides secret life that time will free.
A nest of selected twigs, flimsily, but with charm
Holds two eggs and shuns most harm.

Upon this nest in feathered concern and love
Hovers our delicate bird, the mourning dove.
Her dark eyes, deep pools, in steady stare,
Instinct of habit in protective care.

Shy and perfect in creations fussy way,
Patience awaits this natal day.
Her body stilled, inpulsed with thought.
A choice to seek, what has He wrought.

A strutting mate, iridescent, in his display,
Mourns coos of pride, his right to say
My dominion here with life to cast
Soon nodding heads appear with family task.