Feathers

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul – 
— Emily Dickinson

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I saw a tiny bird’s remains
upon its grayish stone.
Its fragile bones sang sad refrains,
Hinged to its wings, still strong.

Why do the heart, the flesh decay,
And not these woven wands?
Why do they try to guard and stay,
And fight what lies beyond?


Is it these feathers with us stand,
Escort us to God’s door?
Until our souls release their hands-
To fly forevermore.