Feathers from memories past

(Picture: Grace’s Zen Space)

In the silence not a word is said

Just sit observe the feathers shed.

Each holds a world all of its own

Of memories past, precious like gold.

As feathers drift down to the ground

Warm to the touch like sun kissed skin.

Each flickers for a moment more.

Reminders of a childhood gone.

Do not despair, for memories past

Are gathered into unique decor

And placed up on a mental mantel

To be displayed forever more.


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