Doves

It appears, at least to me
That child-bearers who have passed from this world
With enduring maternal bonds
Unable to utter farewell in their final moments,
Briefly return to their kin as Doves.

From spirits soaring through the haze of worlds unknown
Fuelled by undying love,
Granted a form from the eternal master,
Navigating through fields of memories.

Purching gracefully upon the arms of a nearby tree
Steadfast with patience unwavering,
Battling the fierce currents of any season
Driven by one last and lost goodbye.

Remembering a time when a babys' eyes first opened
The grasp of a tiny hand,
Craddling a creation of life while softly tuning a lullaby.
Oh for only one more embrace.
In memorial - releasing a melodic dove's cry.

It seems, at least to me
the whistling whimpers of a dove
May be the one last farewell
Heard and felt by the offspring,
Interpreted by an unseen sensor as:
goodbye my child.