Several days before I was to become flat A white fall flew into my garden. It had matchless black spot on its tail, As if a drop of ink had soiled Its purity. It looked at me As birds do: head sideways, Neck twisted, almost summit fine-tune; Then went the other way, fluttered, Cooed, straightened, and stared at me With more than homophile close upness. Our eyes Met, and I matt-up some misgiving Pass between us, as if it sensed I was to die and felt compassion. And consequently I knew that I would live. Weeks after my miracle The dove re turn, nesting near me, An ordinary bicycle bird. Of course I hold it dear. But who lived in Its eyes? Whose compassion displace The silent thoughts that turned my will? I know my avouch imagination May have spoken with the bird, Lifting me from death. But sure as shooting What well never understand Far surpasses what we know. The dove knows more than we. And I, Returned from death, am want a boulder Lifted up and left(p) upon the shore By some majestic wave.
--References --> This is obviously beautiful. In the world today, there are many good know who are afraid of death and the process of dying. This poetry seems oddly comforting and Im sure it will change the minds of those who are afraid. massive work! I loved this poem. The words are simple, only when still it is v touching, and changes the way you look at death. pal pable expert work. ! I love anything that is simple beauty and this poem is definately that. Very touching, truly deep. Good job
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