It was a cold night, and the snow just swirled,
He pulled his coat tight, against it falling down.
The winter’s so long, so cold so sad,
Alas, this was not an ordinary man.
Sure he was poor, he lacked both wealth and fame,
But he had his two hands, and a house to his name.
His eyes instinctively drifted ground ward, until he saw it, the thing:
It was a white dove, a helpless bird, with a red stain and arrow in its wing.
He would tend to her, and he would dress her wounds,
He would hold her, and she would slowly croon.
She stood, as if to fly away,
And his world came crashing down as he lay eyes on what he found.
His Columbiforme wife, he knew she was there,
Her fowl scent he could taste in the air.
She arrived at his door e simply to have some din,
But after caring for her, the old man took her in.
They were married, you see,
The ceremony filled with triumphant glee.
After the wedding, their bedding was ready,
And the man was heady, but still firm as a tree.
Time went by, just like it always does,
They needed funds, and the fortune was fading from the doves.
She swore she could make it back, but the old timer was greedy;
He locked her up, and was forever needy.