Resignation

It is written when a Turtle Dove  
loses its mate it often seeks another  
to propogate survival.  
 
Yet, in the nine months  
during his visits    
he remains solo.    
 
I wonder if that's  
what Love is,  
a resignation to live out  
appointed days content  
in the experience of having known  
that kind of Love at all,  
rather than desecrate the memory  
with a substitute.  
 
I sit here gazing  
from my kitchen table  
contemplating various possibilities;  
why he hasn't chosen  
another mate to carry on  
as a nesting substitute  
for his broods.  
 
Then it dawns on me;  
he's probably thinking the same too,  
watching me night after night  
writing for hours  
in solitude.    
 
But being alone doesn't  
constitute loneliness;  
for many, like us after a cluttered life  
its a welcomed choice.  
 
For he has his Song,
and I the Poem.  
~