{v.3} :: a mess


A dove is flying on the wind,
Then falling down to Earth,
I lost the thing I cherished most,
The dove has lost her worth.

Washed down by mighty ocean,
Deeper down than eyes can see,
Where Sun and Moon are long forgotten,
Only there can you find me.

Why is there nothing left for me
But toil and tears and blood?
I strove so hard to make it;
I ended up in mud.

© Tone Rossow 2005 Back to the Poetry section

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