The dove’s frail wing lay on its side, still and heavy,
She sat under the shade of a towering oak tree, its leaves floating around like burning embers.
The pale snowy feathers ruffled in the wind, each gust stole more and more of her hope away.
Mellifluous chirps rang about the field, amalgamating with the autumn sunlight.
She wanted to be free.
Pain wrapped around her wing, its thorny vines digging into her flesh.
Despair crept closer, waiting to pounce.
She looked up; the sky was beckoning her with a warm smile.
Hope clawed back at the vines.
