Choices - An original poem

I do not want the constellations any nearer
- Walt Whitman

Choices

I look out the window

this spring; a dove

is singing on a branch

of the apple tree.

I see the early indications:

this will be a fruitful

season. He probably

agrees; I rock in my chair.

I think it is the same one

that was here last season;

even perhaps the same one

that took birth here.

I wonder which I would like

to be if I had one choice:

the tree or the dove?

Now, I come back to my chair.

SHIVPREET SINGH