The Feather
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A feather lost, gliding and drifting, it soars,
in the mighty wind, it twirls and swirls, as if dancing;
once, the People owned all the wilderness,
they called it home, now they watch it be destroyed.
There, high upon a sheer jagged, rocky cliff,
an appaloosa horse of many colors stands majestic;
there, under a blazing azure sky above,
an Ojibwa girl looks at the beautiful land of Canada.
There, in that mighty wind that roars and howls,
eagle feathers in my hair and on my horse gently flutter;
there, below the Ottawa River thunders,
and the vast lands of wilderness stretch to the horizon.
There, above in that cloudless sky canopy,
eagles fly, symbolizing the Peoples spirit and strength;
there, in my dream, I am one with my ancestors,
the only sound is the wind that moves the fluttering feathers.
A feather lost, gliding and drifting, it soars,
in the mighty wind, it twirls and swirls, as if dancing;
once, the People owned all the wilderness,
they called it home, now they watch it be destroyed.
____________________________
April 29, 2016
Poetry/Verse/The Feather
Copyright Protected, ID 16-1227-360-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Strand Select X
sponsor, Brian Strand
Honorable Mention
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2020
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