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above her the cry of the doves was sad and sweet
and she tried to think about their gossamer wings
instead of his smile like summer
and his scent of butterscotch and tobacco
she sat on the church steps as the doves
circled the steeple
and wept for everything she had lost
she cried and waited for the sun
to bring his halo
she cried and waited for the rain
to mask her tears

and still the doves keep circling

April 2000