I gather bird feathers
And strap them into thin leathers
To make hand fans
And sell them in bunch of tens

The money I earn
Goes in my little savings can
I have improved my living
And given up on life's grieving

Work hard, is what I do now
Sometimes I wonder, how
I landed, twisted on a muddy road
Drifting in all direction with my heavy load

It takes time to heal the given pains
But mine slips away slowly when it rains
Now, I am light as a feather
Swaying along with the weather...


©sim