I stand watch
from the early pink and orange of the morning
to now the evil looking purple of the night
waiting in the thick copse
peering out into the open field

Look! Only a moment’s glance until it
disappears into the vast lows of weeds and dirt
full of scoundrels and disease

There it is again!
Its immaculate white figure
fluttering and…

Crack!
Shot down by the nonbelievers
the hunters
mindless and callous
hiding in the brush
their weapons cocked and loaded
the predators only deceiving themselves

Sob.
Pitied by the loving
the birdwatchers
only armed with their binoculars and a companion
both with sandwiches
the bread becoming stale in their hands
sitting by the trees
chatting and gazing intently
a personal bond between the meadow and themselves
eventually, time after time, slowly they forget about their love
it slips away from them and even abandons the most adoring

Crunch.
The soft gnaw of feet on the land
a young child adventuring through the meadow,
the grass as green as her imagination,
stumbles upon a cooing sound
soft and motherly, then
frantically flapping

The young child has love
sentimental love
unconditional love
for the creature
who is wounded
wounded by the mindless and callous

but only its exterior hurt
the thin lines of feathers along the small warm body
the friendship still lies at heart
an old friend

The young girl
appreciates for the first time the gifts she was given
understanding, council, patience, fortitude, kindness, wisdom,
each a piece of the puzzle to help the damaged creature

with a smile on her face and a leader to look over her
she turns
scoops the dove up
and runs

she shows the world her gifts
to anyone with open eyes

her dove
watches over her

now and forever