18 August 2011


Gift of life barbed
as you count the days.
Aged by decades,
your spine crescent-curved
and white-tuft edged,
the wind whispering through your hollow stem.

We cling on with fingertips,
nostalgic for your strength,
remembrance of glossy plumes,
knowing in a heartbeat
the breeze could blow a final kiss,
with a last breath send you spinning,
propel you upwards with a final pulse...

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