Now with the Ides of March gone
There lies only dead leaves
Dead fruit, dead doves
And Spring flowers.
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Now with the Ides of March gone
There lies only dead leaves
Dead fruit, dead doves
And Spring flowers.
“You’re pretty,” said the turtle
to the dove. “Thanks,” said the dove
to the turtle, “but I’m nothing
compared to the peacock.”
“Well, I’ve known many a peacock and
I think you’re much more beautiful.”
“Still I’d rather be a peacock,” said the dove
to the turtle. And I’d rather be a dove,
thought the turtle
as he watched the dove take wing.
A wave of relief rushes over me
and I haven’t smiled so hard,
as when a flock of morning dove
flutter from the grassy knoll
and fly overhead.
Not all the people
you need, can stay
in your life for keeps
they too have places to be
thay can’t always, always be
it gets easier to juggle
some days, others
it’s impossible, until
you’re able to see
that need was never meant to be
your burden, so it’s yours to release
if and when you can
like a caged dove
whose only wish it is to fly
into that holy land.