This morning
a mourning dove has
chased the marsh birds song
replacing it with its own
most melancholy tune,
singing from the chimney,
from dawn to noon a song
of someone or another
who may be no more.

Or, possibly it is nothing but
nature’s process which
banished the marsh bird
and her song which for months
insistently announced each day.

Everything moves to its
next place in a cycle of life,
and so it goes.

Endless change is life’s purpose,
and endless fascination
in what was, is and will be.

The idea that all things
should stay the same,
as if permanence is a virtue,
seems a violation of nature
for all the living,

and yet,  don’t we all want
the song to stay the same
for a little while longer?