There's only hate where once was love
White feathers of a rotten dove
Are blowing gently in the wind
The bird itself thoroughly skinned

And hate is born out of the heat
The fire always wants to eat
And burns down every bridge I cross
But I don't feel the boundless loss

And now I gather feathers white
That grace the ashes of the blight
And from the heavens high above
It raines so many things but love

July 2020