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!