White Dove
In a cage of wrought iron, a white dove resides,
A symbol of love—of purity, where innocence abides.
It sings its song, a melody of longing and despair,
But its cries for attention are lost in the air.
Upon its perch, it dances with poise and grace,
Yet its captor’s gaze remains fixed on another’s face.
The cage, once a haven, now a prison cold,
Where loneliness and isolation take their suffocating hold.
A dark shroud descends to silence the bird’s plea,
Cloaking its beauty, its spirit, for none to see.
In the shadows it lingers, the bird’s resolve wanes,
Thoughts of freedom, hope refrains.
Yet beneath the veil of darkness and gloom,
The daring dove dreams of rising from this tomb.
To soar once more in the boundless sky above,
A free spirit, on a quest for love.
Though trapped and forgotten, its soul stays strong,
For within its breast, love’s flame burns on.
One day, perhaps, the cage will open wide,
And the white dove of love will spread its wings and fly.
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