Gossamer feathers
spin like cinders to the ground;
I behold myself
in their vain, wayward turning,
but I can’t molt what I am.
© 2016 Stellular Scribe
Gossamer feathers
spin like cinders to the ground;
I behold myself
in their vain, wayward turning,
but I can’t molt what I am.
© 2016 Stellular Scribe