Muted morning

The morning is damp and muted
As if the rain turned the volume down.
Back yonder a rain dove calls
Her plaintive cry is lonely an' slow.
Other songbirds are slow to join in
As morning rises and the day beckons.

Forgotten Road.

Rain doves coo softly as they march up and down
The old clay road that leads back the holler
Their path is sometimes altered as they weave
In and out of the hateful tufts of grass that grows
Unhindered now in the middle of the road.
Their heads bob up and down again
As they harvest seeds from the grass
Cars no longer travel the road often.
Seldom, really. The road is un-needed
Un-heeded, unkempt and overgrown.
Occasionally traveled by family come
To lay flowers on moss covered stones
And monuments to pioneer mountain men
Dutiful mountain mamas, near forgotten
Weeds grown over them,
Like the old dusty road.

Rain Doves

I heard the rain doves early this morning
The cried softly as dawn rolled toward me
Not like the brayin' of an ol' rooster
Not to wake folks up or interrupt dreams
More like to mourn the day.

I wondered to myself about the sounds of mournin'
Then realized it was a long way from home
Too far from the hills I call home.
The warmth of an old cabin
The smiles of country folks
And a hand thrown up in passin'.

No wonder the rain doves cry.