Love

From the vanilla-essenced sky

A little bird dropped by

With feathers white as dusted ivory

And blue crystallized eyes

That mirrored a strange human query

Then a delicate wing it curled

Revealing a scarlet wound of blood

I picked the gift from God

In the form of the little dove

And seeing the novelty of its colour

I lovingly named it Love

His advice was to take Love's care

But not to hold it tight

As clasped in palms, Love might die

Listening to Him, I held it light

Forgetting the fact, that Love could fly...