He led a life of dust and denim
trying to avoid the venom
life had spat his way.
She clad her dreams in calico
but wondered what she had to show
for years that passed away.
Their romance, brief, had flared and faltered
hope somehow still stayed unaltered
through the time of pain.
She offered him a magpie feather,
to remind him what had weathered,
what may fly again.
What he could not bear to utter,
wingless feathers only flutter,
never soar or fly.
And like the lonely tumbleweed
her feather will at last concede
its memories of the sky.
© Kenneth Henry, 2015
Photo via Wikimedia Commons (Public Domain)