Feather

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    Feather
    The feathers fall
    fall down and down
    black and red and white
    dancing all the way down

    The twirling of each feather
    as if they were dancing
    partners to this never ending cycle

    challenged by the wind so soft
    able to pick them off
    one by one and two by two

    The casting of each feather
    The bird that grew them
    exist untul death

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    Tesha’s Poems (3)

    Title Comments Submitted
    Title Comments Submitted
    let me be free 0 12/08/2011
    Feather 0 04/09/2009
    Black Fire 0 04/09/2009
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