The Dove

The dove sits on the bit of roof

That I see through the glass

It oversees a land of green

Of flora and of grass

 

Inquisitive, the grey dove looks

Gazing back at me

He stands his ground

And with no sound

He says please let me be

 

So I look with a still gaze

Arms firmly by my side

He glances back to moss and bark

With a sense of peace of mind

 

But then like dawn the silence breaks

Next door’s dog barks sharp and clear

The dove sets off to lands afar

He’s gone, the overseer.

 

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