She came to him as a woman but he ignored her.
She came to him as a nightingale singing outside his room. And he rejoiced, but shutting the window turned to his true love.
She came to him as a cat weaving around his legs. He caressed her arching back, planting kisses on her fur. But then left her outside to return to his true love.
She came back to him as a dove and flew repeatedly into his window. He picked her up and stroked her feathers; astounded when at death she became a woman with tear filled eyes.
Copyright 2016 by Paula Harmon. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission