3 doves fly far away, they swim through the sky, to a new land, full of decay. They visited me in late November, slipping through my palms, maybe they wanted me, begged me to remember.
I visited you, I ran through the trees, to find you on the floor, your head on your knees. I held your hands, feeling the remnants of your heart, as the cracks broke through, and tore down all the land.
The last feather cradles to the floor, golden bird named hope flies away, i can feel the rumble, as a tear comes from the core. The wind’s blowing south, fiercely it takes the final flowers away with it, I’m whispering a sweet song, but it barely comes out of my mouth. If I could, I’d sprinkle the world with silver glitter dust, as the trees sway along with the sweet lullaby, I yell a tune of longing, a sound of ‘I must’.