032826/ Bus Going to Liwan
A dove once fell —
One wing broken,
And there she found herself
In a desert of crows.
Will she ever find her life again?
The desert was never her home.
She once lived in a cage,
Mistaking safety for freedom —
So when the door opened, she flew.
One wing still held strength.
She could rise, but not for long.
She needed rest —
A kind that meant
She could never go back.
Among the crows,
She searched for something familiar —
A feather, a reflection, a place to belong.
But she was weak,
And distance felt endless.
She did not eat.
She held on to what little she had —
And to a quiet hope
She could not explain.
Then, in the desert,
A man found her —
Bleeding, fading,
Ready to let go.
“I can die now,” she whispered.
“My wing is broken.”
But his hands were gentle.
When he touched her,
The pain loosened —
And what was broken began to heal.
He fed her, lifted her,
Taught her how to fly again.
And she did —
She rose, stronger than before.
He watched from below,
Never holding her back.
So she flew — free, restored,
No longer afraid of the sky.
Until one day, she grew tired.
She rested on passing branches,
Finding small joys —
Yet every glance at her wings
Reminded her
Of where she was healed.
So she flew again —
Not away, but back.
And there he was, still waiting.
He opened his hands,
And she landed once more —
Not out of need,
But out of knowing.
And this time,
She chose to stay.