Once upon a morning clearing, there I smiled, laughing, tearing, Over many funny volumes from the small run down comic store. While I laughed, near collapsing, there came a sudden tapping, As if someone rudely nagging, nagging me at my cottage door. “Tis some prankster,” I stated, “tapping at my cottage door: This and gladly not a more.”

So clearly I do remember, ‘twas a nice warm September, With each flower wanting a happy bee to help make more. How I loved this day without sorrow, it was missed when came tomorrow, When my friends came for more to borrow, especially that Charles Bohr— Who the slugs and leeches themselves created to be a sore— He’d ask for even more.

And a grand certain stirring from my bright yellow curtain, Toyed with me—annoyed me so greatly more and more, So that now to calm the anger making me tart, I stood repeating, “It is no prankster knocking at my lovely cottage door, Just an early visitor disturbing me at my cottage door. Only that so I’m sure.”

So then annoyed no longer, my spirit grew much stronger, “Sir,” said I, “or lady dear, Sorry for not answering before, But the fact is I’m prone to snapping when people come tapping, And so loudly you came tap-tap-tapping at my cottage door, That I was hesitant to answer”—So then I opened my bright blue door;— Sunlight blare, and nothing more!

Squinting in the brightness searing, there I stood, thinking, peering, Now betting it was some foul prankster at his cottage door, But all noise remained benign, and the sunlight gave no sign, But the quiet broke by quiet words quirked, “what a bore,” This I spoke , from nowhere that repeated my words of bore. Simply that, but filled with more.

Back into my cottage turning, my spirit letting go of yearning, Once again came the tapping, even louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “there is something at my little glass door. Let’s see what awaits at my window, and this mystery explore, Let my soul once again get steady, and let this mystery explore;— It’s the wind a not amore!”

Here I opened the window shutter, sliding free like fresh-made butter, When in fluttered a bubbly dove with a uncertain look of love. A flutter almost like a bow made he, right after sounding a squawk or three; And then with an elegant soar he perched above my home’s door. Perched on the bust of McDonald right above my cottage door. Perched with life and so much more.

Then this pure white bird brought my happy laughing to an annoyed scowling, By the arrogance of the sweet stared it did so soon before, “Though thee be a nice peace token,” said I, “Your visit has my focus broken,” Lovely, pesky, annoying dove fleeing from the calm other shore! Tell me pest, what name have you from that other sunny shore?” Quote the Dove, “Forever more!”

So surprised was I to find this pesky leech so capable of such free speech Though its reply had little meaning—here I was wanting more, For I couldn’t help in disagreeing that any other breathing being, Was visited upon by as strange a bird as the one above my cottage door, With that name, “Forever More!”

And that Dove sitting calmly on that happy bust only spoke Those two words, as if in those simple words his soul did outpour. Nothing more would he mutter—no single feather did he flutter. Then finally I muttered, “Other pests have come wanting more— But surely you are fine little beast, you do not need more.” Quote the Dove, “Forever more!”

Surprised again at the answer spoken, leaving tension all but broken, “No doubt,” I uttered, “that the words it repeats have no meaning for. Learned by some too-happy master, who knew too glad a laughter, That was warm then warmer, until his joy truly tore All responsibilities and burdens he had ever bore, Forever-ever more.”

But the dove still toying with my glad soul and still annoying, I went for paper to swat the bird off my bust and out the door, But as I did this I started thinking of the dove so sweetly blinking. Wonder onto wonder, pondering what this beautiful bird of lore— What this calm, peaceful, focused and beautiful bird of lore Meant in singing, “Forever more!”

There my thoughts took to thundering, so I stood there wondering, With that dove’s stare if sweetness imprinting in my heart’s core. With doubt on my feel of expressing, I stood there still just guessing, Then I sat not distressing, breathing in for laughter more Maybe the bird did mean well, so came laughter expelling bore, With smiles, “Forever More!”

Then I felt the Earth grow lighter, and the sun did shine brighter, Like a joyous spirit joined me from beyond the world. “Friend,” I said, “God has sent thee—you do mean to set me free! Done am I with those so called friends like Kevin Bohr. How blessed I am to have you at my cottage door!” Quote the Dove, “Forever more!”

“Prophet,” said I, “thing of wonder—if you be a bird or angel’s thunder, Whether God sent you or the clouds led you to this shore, This good land without blight, where flowers grow in warm sunlight In this land of fantastic sight”—“tell me truly, I implore—“ Will they—Will they go away, all these burdens I must endure?” Quote the Dove, “Forever more!”

“Prophet,” said I, “thing of wonder—if you be a bird or angel’s thunder, By the Heaven looming above us—By the God we should both adore. Tell my smiling joyous face, doubtless lackluster in your face, That I may have such grace, to never have to suffer any other bore And if it be such grace, those liars stealing more than before?” Quote the Dove, “Forever more!”

“Be that a sign of joyous staying friend!” I shouted saying, “Oh, don’t leave me here just to go back to that sunny shore! Never stop uttering your words you God among birds! Never cease making me happy, bird—never leave the bust on my door!” Quote the Dove, “Forever More!”

And the Dove not every lying, went flying, just went flying Off the bust of Ronald McDonald above my home’s door; And his eyes left my soul deepening much like an angel’s weeping, So I smiled from my reaping, for my burdens I endure Will be lifted off me more and more, so now the burdens I once bore Will be gone—Forever More!