Dispatching Doves
M
Mark Heathcote
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For a moment's need
beyond your four walls
circled with an emerald-mote
you've dispatched six doves.
Put out through keyhole-
static, windows
their arrows take aim
beyond ram—drawbridge.
Hope is a battlement-
crying for adversaries
to scale the heights
to charge the castle.
To lay down their lives
to show their metal.
She is a damsel in distress.
Sullen, is she still?
In her dove-white dress.
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