My love is sent like a messenger pigeon lifting from its perch upon my pen, flying at first with indecision till it senses its direction and then it turns on faith and wings, navigates with computer precision past mountains, valleys, oceans and buildings. No darkness, no storm will impede this mission. Though wind may pull and tear at its plume, though distance and time may seem so long, though the hopes in the message may seemed doomed, the messenger still carries on. Its wings still beating strong. And to my beloved is addressed a few words tied by a string of hope, of prayer that one day we’ll have no need for these birds for my love I’ll already be there.