"Don't ask for miracles," he said
As the fiery sun rose
Over the vine covered slopes
"Ceramic birds would do as well
White doves don't come
To Montecchia
Faith and trust should mend
A grief rendered heart
Don't ask for sings, redundant
Cliche as a worn, white dove
Resting on a terrazzo gate, alabaster
Accept only the truth that
White doves won't come
To Montecchia."
Blood red sun setting over the
Sleepy Veneto village
A flurry of ivory feathers, pillow soft
Overwhelming the peaceful, twilight skies
A prayer not gone unheard
White doves came to Montecchia!