She was elegant and graceful.
Light as a feather
drifting upon an empty winters day.
Baby spiders crawled up her arms
she squashed them to crusty blood
upon her featherlight biceps.

They told her once that she was
the ugly duckling to the flawless
reflection of white.
How can all colors compare to the
purest?

She had long grey feathers.
They protruded from her back.
White never goes grey.

To the youthful feathers
on each unhappy bird.