27 May 2012
Where are the doves of the sixties now? What happened to the warriors of the sun? The buds have wilted on the olive bough like poppies thrust into the soldier's gun. We thought to change the world then, you and I, with Lennon, Dylan, Martin Luther King. A tattooed butterfly upon your thigh you once believed the songs we used to sing. The long defeated, mortgaged army sleeps where gloating hawks have long since ceased to crow. From ruined battlements with rusted keeps the sword of time will strike the silent blow. Yet still i dream, through wide and wondering eyes, old doves may watch, some snow white phoenix rise.
Tom May
Sonnet for a dove • Opuss № I