The Feather

A blue and grey feather

Floating down the stream

Lying on its back

Head towards the sky.

 

A boy, just a few yards beyond

Sits by the flowing current, slow

Letting out the tears

That persist

The inside broken.

 

Just then

What here comes?

A stroke of love,

Grace,

Beauty.

 

Come gently,

Strange wanderer.

How does it trouble your heart,

Let it be mended.

 

His mind then sees clearly,

Walking away,

Into the water he wades,

So gracefully,

To pick up the feather.

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