A high winging dove
led me to this place of love,
where I sit looking out,
across this brook rippling by,
watching for the feeding trout,
beneath this clear blue sky.

A beautiful woman has just walked in,
where I'm sitting in this glen, and
as she walks across the rye,
a tear, I see glistening in her eye,
and as her gaze falls on mine, in an
instant, the frowning line disappears
and in it's place, a smile appears upon her face,
another instant, there's nothing there,
the brook has dried, the meadows bare,
there's not a sound and high above,
can only be seen, a high winging dove.