(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.