Pigeons, to me, were always signs of hope:
even the whirl of wings against the air
would right me, show me once again the scope
of who I was and whose I was and where;

as when, in one deep shock of vertigo
I saw the city lie beneath my ledge
as flocks of pigeons played a mile below
and kept my feet from straying near the edge;

as blinking blinding water from my eyes
I rose again to reach the air above
and from the sundered sky, to my surprise
there flew from heights uncountable a dove;

as here, a final time, I watch them fly
and heal my hope as I am lifted high.


[Set for SATB choir by Kathryn Rose]

◄ there'll be four and twenty guys


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Nisha Nair

Fri 11th Sep 2020 15:06

Beautifully written!

Robert Haigh

Fri 11th Sep 2020 14:00

Well-articulated and poetic. A poem expressing hope, for all who care to read. A good write.

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