A poem by Peggy Perry
To spook her boon companion,
She poked her head
Into the old silo
And howled,
Knowing that the hollow,
Echoing shaft
Would evoke a ghostly tone,
Not knowing
That doves were roosting
In the dome,
And, when rudely roused,
Would gust
With a startling flurry,
As if flushed from the bush
By chance in a silo,
With motion close- quartered,
And sound redoubled
By resonant walls,
She and the doves
Shared a moment of terror.
