The Dove

The aura of elegant solitude
amongst the raindrops upon the leaves,
then wayward on the temperamental wind
that softly whispers and breathes.

In the dark wood descends the dove
from the blossom tree it adorns,
to warm and caress the cheek
against the cold, cruel thorn.

The clouds are painted birds,
snow white that fly,
upon wings of feathered grace
in freedom across the sky.

The poetry of the winged dove
is in the sky, in the light of sunrise,
never to cease,
it´s song for the Earth is of
calming, gentle peace.