Feather, you are a bubble.
I don't see you very often but,
when I do, it makes my day.
Like a bubble, you are always free,
free to ride the winds,
wherever they may take you.
Now, however, I don't think of you as much.
When I do, I imagine you trapped.
Trapped in someone's art collection at home,
thinking about the life you had when you were free.
But still I hope.
I hope that someday, you will be free once again,
free to ride the winds in the sky.
Also I wonder, do you still remember
when I held you in my hands,
And then let you go while shouting with glee,
because finally, I had helped something to be free.