Of all surrounding thicket thy choice o’ lonesome dwelling
amongst chimney’s red bricks once felled and left; a tall Room, dark—
where light has lost potency to scatter, and you now Wild,
beating with fractured wing, claws curled, firm against heaving breast
Be pardoned now, in somnolence blest
as I fashion this vacant cage for nest.

A dove’s lily-white down is Its signature, voiceless song
feathers alight yet beyond metal bars makes but debris
The drapes are drawn, senses drown, and silence holds that there be
naught save the creaks from your sullen throat; O Hush, so kindly—
I’ll compose a lullaby most sweet
So stifle noisy grievance for my amity.

And I sing and I sing and you quiet, with the rhythmic drumming
o' the generous rain who feeds so endlessly the white lilies upon the sill
Diamond chandeliers drape o'er musty air and the scent o' chamomile makes easy way
whilst sun rays remain at bay— Our home is shadowed; the dust sleeps unseen.

Now three weeks shared, I see you’ve healed, Delightful, we ought celebrate your
security sealed; Our window is open, and your head bobs, eager, at it
Look, today’s blossoms have blushing faces, limp, wet, but they've not tears
Lay in my lap — perch against my neck — accompany me one last sit
Ah, a draft— warm zephyr that kisses bitter, chills the lips
and ruffles that ivory cape as were a sigh. Do you still long for Out?

then you haven't been In long enough.

—O, ‘tis a shame, love, I’ve plucked out a blood feather, how
Colorful the crimson is against thy white! You’ve stained my hands.
Do forgive these nervous fingers — ‘twas an accident,
this anxiety; but Foresight, I praise thee, I’ve bandages a-handy
and our Lullaby, three past weeks and forevermore, leave not me lonely
Worry not my dearest, you needn’t fly away in such state
I’ll make you beautiful again, so stay a week longer, my dove, won’t you?