little dove.

barefooted child
why do you shy away
from the mud
when it is the very place
you were made from?
why do you ignore
the whispers on the wind
if you say your soul
is open
to the chances they offer?
i am curious, little dove,
because your wings were made for flight
yet you’re hellbent on sitting tight.
what would move your spirit
to jump off these cliffs
and soar?

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