The dove laid demoralized.
Dove had no luck, no happy endings.
The wind danced around next to the bird,
As if nothing seemed the slightest bit wrong.
But there it laid.
Throbbed in agony
What luck.
'Tis once a perfect bird
But then the bird got penetrated by cuts,
The brittled feet opened outwards,
And the bright white belly faced up.
There it twitched from fatigue or muscle exertion.
The doves head tilted ninety degrees,
Eyes closed.
The cars zoomed past
Not knowing a dove on the road.
The doves heart slowed down
Beaten every two beats instead of one.
Finally, it completely stopped.
It stiffened its legs while,
The black eyes
Opened up, big as pluto
And screamed in terror.
The feathers, like tumbleweeds
Caught in the wind and
Drifted across the barren road.
But still the dove laid.
It tried the breathe once more,
But it was too late
The gleaming black eyes
Closed gently.
The moving and twitching stopped.
The pure white stomach,
Discolored to a nasty pink.
Flies swarmed in
But there the dove laid
A still cinder block
Stayed so still, it's dead.
