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Dove

Emptiness
No feeling.
Forgetfulness
No memories...
Or, good ones, at least.

The dove glides
Soars upwards
Then
Suddenly
It falls
Crumpled
It hurtles downwards
Spinning
Dead.

I wish, almost, that I was
At least...
Sometimes I do;
Then I'd be free

Like the dove.
It hits the sodden grass
There is a dull thud
To signal it's end

Or, is it a beginning?
I look up.
Once again it soars...
Free.



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Nat S Ford
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