Bygones
There is a limpid bird
Shedding a rare feather,
Wilting the loose mind as
The beak confronts loss.
Yes, I am simply falling
Into old skin and fresh dreams,
Beady eyes pocketing the sky
For a flight of my own, brazen
And loud, unvaned, yet straight,
An arrow of unfailing pose
Aiming for the heart of the flock.
Copyright © Witty Fay | Year Posted 2016
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