He flew through the night,
On wings of silver and gold
Off in the sitance he saw a beautiful sight
And he knew his stroy would unfold.
Swooping low from the clouds above,
Streaking across the sky
He heard a voice, the voice of a dove,
And he began to ponder why.
Why was he drawn to this place?
Why had he flown so far?
Was it the image of a tranquil face?
Or was it from his heart, an old love scar?
Only time would reveal to him his quest,
He'd have to continue on
He knew this feeling deep in his chest,
Would not be easily gone.
About Me
- Hawkeye
- I love to write, and I have always had an intuitive mind. Its sometomes intimidates people that I can sometimes read what they're feeling or thinking just by paying attention to their body language or their facial expressions.