The eagle smiles sharply
He knows my need of gently stroked wings
Amidst shift shaping rocks
I am barely a translucent bubble
Blown through a Childs hoop
Wavering and lost in just one
He may pierce me with his arrogant beak
May find me invisible within herringbone clouds
I am here, I am her
I know that to be true
A pulse, due to a whimsical thought
And an ever hopeful will...
Copyright © Karen Deeks | Year Posted 2012
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