The Dove Poem by Jay Bradley

How you flutter so high,
Unaware there flows a tide,
No secrets do you hide,
You are freedom for the sky;

In harbor from the flood,
You soaring splendid little dove,
Stealing all eyes from above,
Your feet never soiled by the mud;

Your soul will always meet
Where the west wonders east
Over the rocky river feast
Where sandy shores retreat;

I hope you never know
A morose mildew moor
Or what we're fighting for,
Your chalice holds me in glow;

You conquer all along the sound,
In each cavern and each town,
Though royal without a crown,
You rise above the war-torn ground;

You're secretly always true
In longest shadow of high noon,
Forever dry in man's monsoon,
Forgetful of the path you flew;

I marvel you alone,
So blindly do you roam,
Never stealing earth for home,
Sinless bird you still atone;

Your flames forge no fire,
Your shrieks they never cry,
Nor in sadness do you sigh
But only soar on higher;

Men try to tie you with their rope,
Chain you 'long the winding road,
To steal you from your abode,
Mishandle they their fleeting hope;

They know not their true lord,
Their hands define the holy story,
So slay they trees in their glory,
As pyres float down each fjord;

Would they search the starry sky
They'd know where comets do derive,
Perhaps then they'd stay alive,
Maybe too they be blood-dry;

But spring arrives with each new bud,
And you fly still little dove,
To shower hearts with your love,
'Less the trees crash and thud.