A ‘Morning’ Dove

A Dove , mourning.
In my morning.
Outside my window,
the sunlight storming.
 
Through the glass ,
I see her tear.
From the Dogwood blossoms !
she asks . . .  
didn’t love used to live here.
 
In my mourning ,
a tear rolls , falling on the sill ,
the Dove coos on ,
mourning . . . in my morning .
Onward . . . life callously strolls ,  
sometimes scorning .