Wednesday, October 24, 2018

Used Wings

Just a smidgen tattered
A little worse for wear
Sullied like grey cinder
Some spots completely bare
Feathers light as fairies
With darkened roots and stems
Will they work she wonders?
When her time here is done
Solace borne of sorrow
How precious, little things
A life of grace fleeting
This angel with used wings
The earth slightly golden
Freshly turned, chestnut brown
A wreath lain to honour
My mom on her way home

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