The White Dove

My eyes search the clouds, the next day abhorring, Longing to lock eyes with a white dove who’s soaring, And tell him my dread for the mundane tomorrow. He’d say that he knows nothing of any future sorrows, The sun is hotter up here! And the south is filled with seeds! When Noah saw you with the branch, a sign of soon relief, Did he tell you of the torrent, the rains washing all he knows? But I suppose… faith is fixed when one suffers, full of hope. The white dove would remember and with pity say: Noah obeyed, and tomorrow is coming. The floods Rest in two mornings, so wallow in mourning, But truly I tell you that beyond these clouds, Above the waters is a loving gaze and the warm breeze of day.