Literature
The Dove
Sweet soft the beast did moan In the forest as the fires burned Through the smoke a shape was cast. A creature of darkness and deep, Its form a wondrous thing. It was a creature of beauty and grace, A thing of power and might. It stirred in the darkness of a fading light, The sweet soft sound filled the night. Embracing shadows, its essence flawless, A creature born of darkness, taking flight. In the depths of the blackness, it found solace, A refuge from a world bathed and consumed by light. The city had now faded like a hazy dreamed that passed Through the smoldering smoke was revealed a moist cold path. Let it journey to the ocean where the white dove flies On wings of purest white, It's an image so precious and bright. The dove graceful as it glides, On swells of gentle wind, It soars among the clouds, A sight that's near divine. The sun's rays glisten off its wings, Giving it a heavenly glow, The dove soars high and free, Its beauty for all of us to see. Let my soul