The old. old man,
Injured in war,
Looks out the window.
Bombs fly everywhere.

His knee aches
And his head hurts.
He screams
And he cries.

Small, white, and winged,
A dove flies in.
On the windowsill it stares
As the old man starts to grin.

The next day, he whimpers.
He shouts and calls for help.
He's on the floor
And starts to yelp.

Small, white, and winged,
Two doves fly in.
On the windowsill they watch
As the old man calms down.

One month, time passes by,
And so did the life
Of the old man who doubts
He'll ever be young again.

Small, white, and winged,
A dozen doves fly in.
In his coffin,
A young man rests in peace.