new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
Yasou Vassilis. Two different images came to mind here: (1) a mourning dove, railing at grayness; and (2) the "It is what it is"-ness of waiting. Am drawn more to the second scenario, perhaps because it's so uncannily familiar. Great poem. Thanks.
Good to read your thoughts about this one; incidentally, our garden is filled with the "ah-oo, ah-oo" of those doves called "dekaoktoures" presumably because their onomatopoetic cry resembles the Greek word for the number "18"!