The fowl has fallen victim to,
That heartless game which renders fair,
The fiendish plots of sickened souls,
Infected deep with black intent,
Their only thought to gain advance,
Upon the one who high above,
Soars proud and free --the hapless dove.
The jagged bone yards here beneath,
Where jackals pick the carcass clean,
And rabid dogs do tear and rend,
The flesh of all within their reach.
Whilst high above the sweet dove's brow,
Where azure stretches on for miles,
And bright, the golden sun doth shine,
On all that happens far below.
Yet closer, now, the dove descends,
Alas, alights 'pon charred ground,
Where unconcealed and fetid waft,
Of foul design and crooked path,
Assail her pure and gentle beak,
So sadly does she come to be,
Ensnared by naked treachery,
Lie fallen now, thou hapless dove.