Today, my pigeon came at my door,

I opened, the poor creature cried “no moree”.

With a glistening beak and swollen feathers, he told

“Forgive me O kind friend,

but this letter of yours I can not put in her hand.

For she laughs; giggles, when she reads,

but strangely still her eye slightly bleeds.

I’ve seen you write my ruthless friend,

I am aware you do not blink,

You too- harm yourself,

as you use soul for ink.

The one’s she write are so misleading and untrue,

carrying her letters of red ink,

See my feathers turned- Blue.”

“Go and brace her;

O slow- my friend.

Lies bird not, she too longs for you.

Take my wings if you will,

I’ll give up existance- for your fill.”

This bird-

smaller than my heart,

and his words-

even smaller,

Oh! how have they pierced my meat,

Oh! how have they made me weep,

Even for a moment-

Oh! how had they made me belive;

That poor me, could brace you.

He drinks the bead from my eye,

My heavy letter to him I tie,

He flies out the window,

All three of us cry.