A grey dove sat atop an olive tree,
its wings dull and brown from the toiling flight;
five thousand miles of ocean waves and seas!
A few missing feathers on each, it hoped
would grow again to fill the gaping holes;
thankfully it was just the raging wind!
“Where is she? Where is she?”, panting it cooed,
in a voice both sharp and melancholic,
intrusive yet hauntingly beautiful.
‘I have come from far away, where the sun
used to shine less cruelly in days bygone
and the rivers too were panoramic.’
‘Now it is as barren as I am without her’,
the grey dove thought, ‘but my coos are not spreading far!’