The White Dove


I hold in my hand
a white dove.
It came to my hands
looking for love.

It's wing's hurt,
it can barely fly,
her eyes are terrified,
she starts to cry.

Oh, gentle dove,
so white and pure.
Oh, gentle dove,
I have a cure.

The poor dove,
has learned there's hate.
Now she is stained forever,
it is her fate.

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