feather.

Falling gently, floating really, through the midday sky,
I see a feather lighted on the crabgrass, by and by.
Where is your bird, I wonder, where can he be found?
And who would leave a part of them just lying on the ground?

I stoop to pick it up, with startled wonder on my face,
I will not leave this pristine thing abandoned in this place.
For if I did, its lovely white would surely fade to brown,
And I live not far from here, just past the edge of town.

I start my walk, sing a tune, and make my merry way,
I thank the Lord for my leisure on this lovely day.
I soon being to tuck my feather away inside my hat,
In the pretty crimson band that never did lay flat.

Almost to my doorstep, the wind begins to blow,
I grasp my hat and look around, I see the sun's bright glow.
My feather's gone, but where, I sigh, some things aren't meant to be,
Until I see my feather's home, back in his master's tree.