The bird of Peace, we say we love,
Get a gun, shoot a mourning dove.
The question now is obviously,
Why kill doves so needlessly?

Hunting doves in Autumn, logically,
Doesn't fit the species, biologically.
Find orphaned squabs in a starving nest,
While someone dines on their mother's breast!

What human needs and goals we meet,
When bloodied feathers lie at our feet.
A hunters limit numbers eight,
Shameful throphies to celebrate!

A soaring meteor, swift and mild,
Belongs to ALL, left free and wild.
No one NEEDS to kill a dove,
Ask old Noah, what is love?

 © 2000 Frank Z.