Originally written: sometime in 11th grade
There is a feather nearby, lying in the grass.
I’m thinking of picking it up.
a white quill, of a gull, I’m sure
but it lies among refuse and dust.
It once had a chance to make a wing fly
It once kept the snow from the skin of the bird
If lifted when first fallen, and dipped into ink
it make have kept oath makers from breaking thier word.
but it lies there in the grass, flithy and abused
with neighbors of candy wrappers, used gum, old tissues
its fletchings frayed, its color grayed
bent, trodden and disused
its promise is gone, its numbered days are short.
it lies among leaves and bit of fluff.
The is a feather lying nearby in the grass.
I stand and walk away.