Here is my everlasting goodness,
delicate, light as a feather
with warm sunset colors, gently
fluttering all the time;
through every terror-stricken situation
it slips past, not without effort.
Especially when caught off guard,
in the midst of a beautiful night
(the annual celebration of its birth).
Though goodness is ideal, trust
is sometimes its failure…a gust,
humid almost to the point of being edible,
but making it no more palpable,
deceives its friend, causing that fragile
feather to whip and carry on in
quick, unrelenting circles, until
a dazed version of its former self remains.
It lives still…with fewer barbs
radiating from the shaft.
***For my more childish friends (who, let's face it, think like me)...the 'shaft' is the part of a FEATHER that holds the barbs or the soft strands coming off it.
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