My Dove


Swaying softly in the wind,
velvet wings lift her high,
her body smooth as a silk,
her spirit strong as stone,
she flies,
long and steady,
day or night,
it makes no difference to this heart,
tired wings and worlds apart,
and yet she flies,
she knows,
each day,
each night,
I stare into the sun,
I look upon the stars,
looking for a her,
some might call her a simple bird,
but to me,
this soul,
this light,
each beat of her wings,
fills my heart,
within her grasp she tenderly holds my every smile,
she flies,
swaying through every gust against her,
past every raindrop put in her way,
her tender heart brings her closer,
she carries a simple twig,
across the sea,
across time,
across life,
a simple gesture,
to a simple man,
who knows,
just how much,
that olive branch means.