Wednesday, June 11, 2014

THE GOLDEN DOVE

When I See the crow.
I see nothing more, nothing more than it's dark, gloomy, lonely eyes.
When I see the dove.
I see more than what I see, I see its wings above me.
I take my harp and plays it's song.
It's Song of Harmony.
And when it is heard.
You hear a voice, a voice, so majestically saying;
"Crow, leave your lonely feathers, and grow some gold
 and with this, you will become the Golden Dove."
With that the crow was a dove.
A dove of the harp.

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