White Bird

He swooped down
To visit awhile
Regal plummage
Delights my eyes.

Bright white feathers
With a touch of tan
His ring of feathers
A perfect crown.

Those piercing eyes
Look through my soul
His eyes as dark
As newly mined coal.

He shook his head,
Ruffled his feathers and
Swayed side to side
Then began to glide.

He soared air bound,
Dipped, cried out
As he disappeared
Into the space
I call memory.

Dianne Borowski

Bay Village

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Volume 5, Issue 9, Posted 10:30 AM, 04.30.2013