The white dove falls...from the blue sky.It's body, now lifeless,descends into the ground.Now it's wings won't flap,and it's legs won't perchand it's body must fall.The white dove fell...from the blue sky.Yet, it's feathers floatblood stained and twirling,they'll fall,more slowly than the dove.The white dove's life,ends after it reaches the groundand it is discreet..The white dove fell...into the ground.Yet, it's feathers float.Blood stained and twirling,they'll fall,slowly into the ground.
"It isn't the place it used to be,it was a lot better."Said Grandma as she told her talesOf the place where my home lies today.She described:"Serene and greenwith trees and pastutes whereherds grazed and packs preyed."She spoke of:"The fresh air and water,the farms that fed the villagers."She recounted:"Then came progress,that turned houses into farms,roads into forests,and filled the air with smokes and dust."It was her share of story.But if I should share mine,ages hence from today,I know the...
Member since March 29, 2017