-
- Feather
- A noisy,
crowded place
- can be as
cold and lonely
- as an
empty cabin straining
- against
the wind of a winter storm.
-
- Where the
blizzard whistles
- and pine
logs sizzle
- and my
impatient heart
- beats its
melancholy solo.
-
- These do
I hear above the buzz and din
- of
clinking glass and drunken patter--
- the
sounds of solitude within my head
- and the
hollow ring of my own foolish cup.
-
- Then like
a bell that rings from a valley below
- or the
sudden stop of the wind's fierce blow,
- it
pierces the quiet where my mind's waters flow
- then
softly, like a feather falling,
- she
whispers hello.
-
|
