Dark Bequeather

A gift settles upon the ground,
Cast from blue skies all around.
Not a sight is seen of its dark bequeather,
But the gentle quiver of the feather,
Held now between my thumb and forefinger.
I know I am richer for your encouragement,
For your presence.
For your reminder that your watching over,
Even when your nowhere, to be seen.
Now here,
A sign of you rolls between my thumb and forefinger.
You are known,
As well as felt,
You are seen as I day dream,
Walking amidst the recollection of hopes.
The recollection of such dreams,
As only we can dream,
Of such dreams..
I stand,
Embracing what it means.
Breathing an exhaling whisper upon the breeze as it leaves for the trees.
Please my dear,
Please my darling dark bequeather,
Hear my praise and take my thanks,
As you soar and bank.
Hear my praise,
And take my thanks,
As I marvel at your feather,
Held here between my thumb,
And forefinger.
Written by Fiftysevenhours
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