A pigeon is not a dove.
The pigeons around here hang out at the beach like awkward British tourists, looking for a monument and a gift shop.
The doves nest outside my window, cooing for attention.
Commerce and love. Two very different things.
This is what it sounds like when pigeons cry, sang no prince, ever.
But when doves cry, we feel it.
“But to see her was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.” – Robert Burns