by Jeremy Wayne Couch
I caught it and held it in my hand
feeling its pulse against my palm
I took it home and put it in a cage
thinking how lucky I was to own it
But a caged bird does not sing . . . it dies
I saw this and cried
"No! No! It will not live if I keep it,
but if I let it go,
someone else might capture it."
Yet, as the old cliche goes,
if it is mine it will return to me
If it does not, it never was mine
to begin with
So I set free the crimson dove . . .
your heart