Plucked

The feather floated
Gently at first,
Carried on a gentle breeze
Drifting towards the ground
Until
Gripped by a current,
Catapulted from its meandering course
It began to dive
Headlong towards the earth,
Spinning,
Whirling,
Out of control.
Faster and faster
Towards deep mud below..
Then,
Inches from the ground,
The feather was plucked from the air
By a firm, yet gentle hand.
Nestled in a caring palm
The feather rested.

Daily poem #874

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This entry was posted in Animals & Nature, Friendship, Recovery, Relationships and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Plucked

  1. jfb57 says:

    When we go to football I often imagine what the life of a piece of the various bits of paper could be. This poem reminded me of those moments! 💜💜

    Liked by 1 person

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