Field of Doves
And lo a voice from heaven, saying, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased. Matthew 3. v 17”
Field of Doves
Rising up on fragile dappled wing
A thousand doves,
In winter’s field of stone and troubled dawn,
Long since the harvest of the golden corn,
Too far yet, the birth of joyous spring,
A winged cloud above.
Swift to wheel in golden gilt-edged teams
Far-flung their flight,
Against the dark woods shadowed naked limbs,
Grey-tipped and joyous on the morning brings,
A swirling marbled dance in sunlight’s gleam,
Their voices bright.
Distant skies of blue all now rejoice,
For here is One,
Of purest white as snow that flies alone,
That thrills with love the heart once turned to stone,
And somewhere near the Father’s voice,
“Here is my Son.”
Rising up on fragile snow white wing,
A perfect dove,
So swift to come the broken heart to fill.
Captured by His presence on cold winter’s hill,
A light to shine within, a song to sing,
O blessed Love!
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I am sitting here with my mouth open! What an incredible piece. Thanks for your comments on my pieces too - I am 63 and this week Mick and I will celebrate our 24th!
This poem is not just well written it is art you could almost see each word come to life. I bet the Lord is well pleased with your praise.
P.S. I forgot to mention it was a joy to read
Yvonne: I find this somewhat elusive yet in a beautiful way. Phrases like --- "Of purest white as snow that flies alone, That thrills with love the heart once turned to stone," --- leaves me deeply edified. And yet, what does not readily edify me, captivates me. Thank you for this passionate work. I would be so honored to get a PM with more insight for my slow morning brain to further digest the depth of its beauty. The Lord Bless You.