The dove dies

The dove dies
In a glass oven
The dove decomposes
With a smile on its face
Except for the wings
That escape death

The beak
Is like having
A water jug
For a mouth
It smiles
Like an orchestra
The beak is a useful container
For tears
And at dawn it sings
To awaken he shrubbery

Bea

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances.

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