A Bird in a strangers town.
Feathers of much to learn,
Different colours all of which
Are bright,
However some, neglected by the light.
This bird has come along way from home.
The seeps in the trees
And the tough of the storms
Marks how much she has grown.
The bird still struggles for her place
For her nest,
For the comfort of relief from a dream persisted by flight.
Because the bird is uncertain,
Of its track being right,
If her feathers are made for the wind.
She lives for the day when she can stop cashing pray
And simply just lay.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
A Bird in a strangers town.
Feathers of much to learn,
Different colours all of which
Are bright,
However some, neglected by the light.
This bird has come along way from home.
The seeps in the trees
And the tough of the storms
Marks how much she has grown.
The bird still struggles for her place
For her nest,
For the comfort of relief from a dream persisted by flight.
Because the bird is uncertain,
Of its track being right,
If her feathers are made for the wind.
She lives for the day when she can stop cashing pray
And simply just lay.