Mystery of the Dove
Gone from me like a feather from a caged dove
My lathe for talk has erased itself.
There are no more words that I can offer for
when I do I lose my place
And must turn back to remember what I was.
The dove is grey in her cage yet white on the wing
Is there a mystery
Or is it just the bending of light again?
Arwen Nightstar aka Stephanie
Williamson
9/08/1998, Copyrighted.
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