One tiny home up a forest tree,
In a quaint but familiar territory,
One little pigeon with a broken wing,
Hums it’s song one sad, rainy evening.
Morning walks further into days,
Hope burns brighter in his heart,
Thrilled to take the directions of the winds,
Long flights into the wilder parts.
With wings so strong and eagerness of a bear,
Little pigeon can fly anywhere,
And so he flaps and away he goes,
far from what sheltered him from rain and foes.
But little pigeon left a part –
Of itself, in his tiny home,
A part that beats and which could bleed,
once little pigeon don’t come home.
In that tiny home up a forest tree,
It’s now where little pigeon longs to be,
And after years of sadness he flies back to see
He who’s been waiting for him constantly.