Snow pours out of an angry sky,
The wind cuts like icy blades,
Yet the Dove flew on through it all.
Cold like fabled frosts of yesteryear sets in across the land,
The sun is a distant memory of warm summer days,
Still, the Dove flew on.
When he finally finds his place of respite,
He settles in for a rest,
Bracing himself against the storm,
But no matter the conditions against him, the Dove will fly on.