Sometimes when the snow falls,
As a feather torn from some abandoned nest,
In soft early light, I feel but second best,
Alone and apart from the rest.
And yet, I realize, I love the feather
More than the graceful bird
Lost in foul weather, its calling never heard.
But then, the best would love the bird.
By: DE
I love your poems! Love you too!!!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poem! Please take care. You are in my thoughts and prayers. Big hugs, Bobbie
ReplyDeleteDE--just like you, to write so beautifully and not seek any credit! It is an awesome poem written by an awesome friend! Love, Doris :-)
ReplyDelete