All the letters you send;

All the words you have penned;

All the prose which you write me by night,

Are gathered with me; 

A heart, here bursts free;

As I read them in glows of a light.

A neat rubber band;

All the whites and the blues;

Pigeon, each one is so true…

Your fragrance, your style, I sit here awhile,

And smile as though loving you!

As I moisten the glue, I’ll post mine and seal,

I lick just to taste how you’ll feel, 

I’ve just read your letter – over again…

And I love how your pen, makes it seem…

That you’re here now and then… 

Stand tall!… Don’t shrug!… I recall,

How we gathered and kicked,

The leaves in the Fall!

I’ve just lit the fire, and brought in some logs;

There’s heaps of wood in the yard;

The rug has a stain, which I tried to remove…

And dry by the fire – but it’s hard.

The dye seemed to run; at first it was fun;

I dried a few tears… then to stall, 

It’s shaped like a heart; 

And how I hate being apart, 

Pigeon, I miss you! The Fall!  

I screamed when the neighbour’s dog kept me pinned,

At my door, and howled there so loud,

I think it was hungry and frightened of me;

I looked like a ghost in a shroud! 

It smelt me, then turned; the logs cracked and burned,

And today the radio played, 

Our favourite song  – The winter’s too long; 

My pigeon – I miss you in Fall!