The Dove

The Dove, it never seems to fade

For dreams, you see, can’t die to blade

Alighting like a candle flame

In any heart that shrinks from shame

And though those who see it surely will

Use beauty as excuse to kill

It really doesn’t seem to care;

Sits on its perch – just perching there

And it shadows sins a thousand strong,

From arm of justice, proud and long

No Recompense, no pint of blood

To sate each tide of vengeance-flood

Again, again, we just pass by

And never stop for call or cry

Yet it remains and shadows, sings

For those who long for proffered wings