A thought-provoking poem about the demise of mourning doves.

I looked out into my back yard.
There lay a circle of feathers.
To surmise what happened wasn’t hard;
‘twas where a flock of doves gathers.

Mourning doves daily flock to my feeders.
They feed upon seed fallen to the ground.
The neighbors’ cat turns them into bleeders,
as he captures them with a mighty bound.

This circle of feathers bears mute testimony
that some dove has lost yet another skirmish
in the bird-cat war of death and acrimony.
Anger toward this cat makes his death my wish.

Later in the day, hatred for the cat still
filling my heart, I see doves have returned
to the yard to feed. All seems quite tranquil.
The doves move about most unconcerned.

Suddenly out of the sky swoops a hawk,
pinning a dove to the ground. Tightly held
by talons, the dove’s carried away as I gawk
at the sight, my anger at the cat now dispelled.

A circle of feathers marks the spot of the kill.
I now realize doves have predators other
than cats in my yard. Hawks have to eat; still,
bird eating bird seems like brother killing brother.

This incident reminds Nature is rather mean,
when a creature as gentle as the mourning dove
in midst of a scene so peaceful, so serene
meets sudden death on the ground or from above.