The Gull Feather

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Alone –

on a bleak winter beach

endlessly pelted by crystalline sands

 

Alone –

half exposed midst the grains

held fast in its tomb as by invisible hands

 

Alone –

worn, frayed – yet still strong

once one of many, now gone from their sight

 

Alone –

nevermore to be preened

nor feel the air move in the magic of flight

 

Alone –

cast out and replaced

now blown by cold winds to whence it might lie

 

Alone –

I perceive its sad fate

we be one in the same, that feather and I.

 

 

Dean Carrier

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