The Dove

The wild flowing river stretched down to the sea;

Picking its way through valleys high;

Mountains looming in the sky.

Overhead flies the Dove white beneath the blue of the sky,

Searching out a peaceful place;

Gliding on the summer breeze.

The fields lie with meadows green,

Hiding secrets from you and me.

Whispering winds and violent gales

Carving out a perfect place.

The sun casting shadows from tall pine trees,

Shelter lies under the old oak trees;

That stood since time began.

One man stands to drive a stake,

Down beneath the earth's rich crust.

Concrete pillars take the place of nature's great creation,

Making way for man's domination.

No place to go to be alone,

The horizon is overcrowded;

And the Dove keeps flying on...