Crestfallen
But even so, death touches all things
Oft heedless of how fair
Though times seems to spite
Any joy or hope in the living
Touching all is not unfair
I only wish that hand might spare
A pretty song hearkening to flight.
As I cradled that dying feather, I plead
Alas; fallen unto this foul ground, stricken, she bled
Posted Nov 2, 2016, 12:40 PM UTC
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