by Nick Gisburne
He found the feather drifting on the breeze
The rarest and most beautiful of things
And looking to the forest, through the trees
He spied a fleeting flash of angel wings
Enthralled, he climbed to reach that lofty perch
Imagining what wonders could be there
But far away, atop a tiny church
The angel, resting, bowed its head in prayer
He chased the dream for long, relentless days
But now, at last, it soared across the sea
And as the sun released its final rays
He wept for what he knew could never be
His soul could only ache and count the cost
The angel and the feather, both, were lost
