Poem: Native Nostalgia

 There are no bells,
 She told me,
 Just their chirps.
 She danced to their songs,
 And I almost felt as if I could
 Bathe in the rays that bounced off her skin.
  
 I ran through yellow in a halcyon daze,
 Jasmine twirling with the wind,
 And native marigolds I placed behind my ears.
  
 Then I felt her soften like pulp,
 Weep in a deep blue silence,
 I could see her soul dispute its existence.
 Memories faded again,
 But I know
 She could almost hear that birdcall. 
 

Have a story to share? Contact us.
featherpen-blog@hotmail.com    

Also, don't forget to follow us on Instagram!
@featherpenblog