his is a widely published, true story of one day in an eternity of grief.
About The Dove
I've written much about Noelle
Shamelessly bared my very soul
Epodes of sorrow, epoch in Hell
Each one a grievous episode . . .
But I forgot to tell you about the dove
Abyysmal pain her leaving caused
With searing hurt and nights insane
A man oblivious to laws
A driving drunk, a country lane . . .
But I must tell you about the dove
My son it was, I think, that day
While walking home from work
Perchanced to see it as it lay
And stooped to pick it up . . .
Within his hands, a sculptured dove
It was the day I chose her stone
Inscribing it with all my love
The granite, stately, stood alone
It's face imprinted with a dove . . .
Holding a rose dripping a tear
My son walked slowly up the road
With wonder written on his face
And mutely handed me a rose
Exactly like the one I'd placed . . .
Upon the tombstone of her grave