The Dove

I saw the white dove fly

away when I first opened my eyes.

He seemed to have brighten up

the heavenly skies.

He left with such a cleansing grace.

That to this day it causes tears

to spill down my face.

He held such an illuminating light

that even now can I remember

that beautiful site.

As the years had gone by,

I had always thought of that dove

and realized that only I saw it.

And wonder if it was a gift from up above.

As I grew older, I moved on and thought

no more of this beautiful bird.

I've not spoken about this to anyone.

Not a single word.

But then came that day when I saw a frail

creature lying there on the ground.

And knew that it was my dove

that I had mysteriously found.

His scarlet blood spilling below

his feathers that blended in with the snow.

As I buried it, I found that my hands

were fragile and cold.

And realized that I've suddenly

become so old.

This little tale of mine was of the past.

And now I know that my life

will no longer last.

I lie here at this moment,

eyes closed, with a smile.

And I know that my life has

been worthwhile.

I feel my time has come.

My thoughts turn toward the death

of the white bird and then it was the ringing

of peaceful chimes that I have now heard.

But this time the bird was dark as night

and I finally see it taking flight.

I once saw the white dove fly away

when I took my first breath

and now am seeing the

black dove descending,

as I embrace my

sweet death.