Walking to the hills, Where I seem to lay. When everything is still, That’s when I say.
To the one I love, That I will always be, Like the peaceful dove, Perched on her tree.
I tell her it’s for her, That I wrote this poem. That this isn’t a blur, It’s not my hearts roam.
Then she looks into the eyes, Of a simple bird, Which never cries, But she says no word.
As the flock goes, I will always lay, On the perches nose, Where nothing stays.