The dove’s shadow dances across pearl snow, 

Blinding sunlight reflects against her wings,

As she searches the meadow high and low,

For bobbles, bells, and festive shiny things.

She gathers crimson berries and oak twigs,

Misplaced earrings (peculiar human goods),

And weaves a cozy wreath adorned with figs,

To return to her shared nest in the woods.

But evening’s chill is creeping through the air,

Clutching her decorations in her beak,

She searches for her darling, oh-so-fair,

To fill their home with trimmings quite unique.

Two turtle doves in a night cold, yet gay,

Are snuggling, awaiting Christmas day.