A Dove

A sparrow once flew just over my door. He sang me a song he knew I’d adore. And songs were but few as fair as of his, I hoped it would long and never would cease. Then often he'd come just over my door, To sing me his rhymes like no one before. One could not be numb by such lovely tones, And our splendid times did enter my bones. With every song heard just over my door, It's music turned pale of youthful galore For voice of the bird was tainted by time, As if it has sailed away from our prime. So sparrow took leave just over my door, And his flight was dim that I could have sworn. He left me believe that he's gone for good, Again song of him hear never I would. Alone I was blue just under my door, With ache in my heart I missed my tenor, If I could fly too then I’d follow him, To hear vocal art his masterful hymn. But I couldn't fly away from my door, So I stayed alone with my heartly sore, Then sorrow passed by each day after day, Forgotten was tone all blurry and grey. When morning was clear once over my door, My sparrow appeared with our songs of yore, The songs still were dear; they were much the same, They never were cleared from memory’s frame. Again felt in love right over my door, I did in a bit to songs that he bore, No sparrow, a dove, a beauty and all, My fire was lit and crumbled my wall. She then flied away from over my door, In love was I dropped and left like a corps. Whenever I stray now out of our love, To new things I opt the bird is above.