The swift movement of the magically beautiful bird
Full of youth, hopeful curiosity, and dreams unheard
Wings flapping, beak cutting through the air
Soaring along, all is joyful and fair.

The dove turns slightly upward
Piercing through the air at a steadily gaining speed
Going forward, magnetized to the red light shining above
Attracted to its beauty, its appeal, its wonder

The lure strengthening, the dove quickens
Yet the approach is slow, a gradual satisfaction
The arrival is mysterious, yet the thrill still powerful
As the red light glows, from deep within the dove

The bird at its peak, the one so longed for
Glides through the air, crowned with a brim of confidence
Then, as suddenly as brightened, the light dims
A warning for danger to settle, forever.

Downward the dove falls
With each tumble a bruise
And as the appeal turns to odium
The red light fades to green

The damage is done, the fear forever now lingers
The dove scared to know, which colors shine true
For though free as can be, as always longed for
Liberated from fear, the dove is not

After the agonizing fall, so tender the dove
Looks up to the sky, in need of reassurance and love
The force guides the bird, in search of a light
That will burn a true red, and forever bright