A little dove flew through the wood who thought all hearts were kind, For every smile must surely mean a gentle soul behind. She shared her crumbs with fox and crow, she trusted every word, And never once suspected claws could hide beneath a purr. A serpent watched her from the grass with one suspicious eye. He'd learned that smiles could hide a trap and compliments could lie. “Dear dove,” he hissed, “you'll lose your wings if you are this naïve” She tilted up her little head: “Must everyone deceive?” She taught the serpent mercy; he taught the dove beware. She showed him some are worthy; he showed her some don't care. And feather rested next to scale where neither stood alone— For he gave the sinless eyes and she gave wisdom home. A fox approached one afternoon: "My goodness, what a sight! Such lovely wings! Come closer, dear, I'd praise them more outright.” The dove stepped forward with a smile; the serpent blocked her way. “He'd like your feathers very much between his teeth today.” The fox went pale. The dove went still, then whispered, “Ah. I see.” The serpent beamed that she had learned to notice trickery. But serpent had his habits too. For every threat he saw, His first response was usually: “Their face will meet my maw.” “You cannot bite each man you meet.” “He threatened you!” he cried. “He simply wished to give me bread.” “It could have been a knife!” She taught him sometimes teeth should stay behind a patient smile, And not each fool who causes harm must always be reviled. She taught the serpent mercy; he taught the dove beware. She showed him some are worthy; he showed her some don't care. And feather rested next to scale where neither stood alone— For he gave the sinless eyes and she gave wisdom home. One winter morn, a hunter fell and caught himself instead, His ankle bound within the snare he'd meant to leave her dead. The serpent knew that face too well. “Leave him,” was all he said. The dove looked down upon the man, then gently shook her head. “He would have killed you yesterday.” “I know,” she softly said. “But if we leave him here to freeze, what makes us better, then?” The serpent stared a little while, then cut the hunter free. And when the frightened man looked up, he saw no sharpened teeth. In time the village passed the snake without a frightened shout. They'd seen him guard the hatchling nests and lead lost children out. And when a stranger begged the dove, “Come closer, I am hurt,” She brought him food—but kept her height, and watched the nearby dirt. The serpent nearly burst with pride. She laughed, “Don't start again.” And instead of knives it then was now a love behind his grin. He still saw danger first, she still saw goodness there. He taught her love needs open eyes, she taught him eyes need care. For innocence is not the same as simply being a fool. And wisdom isn't wisdom if suspicion makes you cruel. One asked, “What could go badly?” One asked, “What good could be?” And side by side they learned to ask the questions both could see. She taught the serpent mercy; he taught the dove beware. She showed him some are worthy; he showed her some don't care. And feather rested next to scale where neither stood alone— Wisdom gave her clever eyes; Innocence gave him home. I laughed to see them side by side. "What foolish things to pair: A harmless dove, a serpent wise—" Then stopped and scratched my hair. For somewhere I had heard before those creatures named as one: "Be harmless as the gentle dove, a snake when danger comes." So if you find a heart that's good, don't teach it to be blind. And if you find a clever heart, don't let it turn unkind. The dove need not become the snake, nor snake his skin forgo. Perhaps the wiser miracle is teaching both to grow.
