A feather floats unselfconsciously onto an open palm,
Rests delicately in the perfection of itself;
Is lifted tenderly on its journey by a thought;
Moved delicately as a bubble through the still air
By the rise and fall of a butterfly=s wing.
Elusive One beyond meager attempts to color You -
As if a photograph of a rainbow,
Or a sketch of a flower would suffice
© 2010, Vicky M. Semones
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Always,
Deborah
Ron