First-Storey

~ First-Storey ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~

~

One small feather flew yesterday,

Blew to my hand whilst on my way,

Walking that day to work.

~

A fervent morn with fierce sun,

O how pathways of gold did run:

Dazzling like diamond aisles.

~

I walked downhill through shadow’s haunt

Taunted by terrace housing,

Crowding my daunting descent.

~

Turning right blinding light,

Eyesight stunned shocked stuttered:

Heart fluttered beating fast.

~

Paths ahead auriferous threads,

Ribbons meandering pyres:

Rivers of rushing fire.

~

Sunshine fed pavements bled

Led to a crossing beneath morn’s sun,

Where without stopping crossing a road.

~

I pass a point where seagulls feed,

Where need rips open bin-liners,

Food left-over diners.

~

A sudden wind harried morn’s air,

A feather blew with spirited flare,

Flew into my open hand.

~

So small so delicate I couldn’t clutch,

In as much I might have crushed its spirit.

Closing my hand with it held in it.

~

Fleeting touch on fingertips,

Then airborne fleeing once more,

Hovering above the floor.

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