After All, White Doves by Geoffrey Edward Harvey Grigson (Martin Boldero)

They rose out of dead men,
out of their mouths,
gently, white doves,
to branches where they fidgeted
at first, a little,–
free, uncertainly.

It was something,
white doves for the souls of men,
instead of the roving idiots
of the morning, cuckoos,
or jackdaws cackling, or identical
factory chicken chelping, or worse,

White doves
even the souls of the worst.

From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=32356

Date: 1972

By: Geoffrey Edward Harvey Grigson (Martin Boldero) (1905-1985)

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