The Doe

The Doe


If they had not torn it out of me
Away from me
The soft feathers
Of the cygnet
Would still be growing from
My fingertips
And
Had they not ripped it
From my chest
The heart of the doe
Would still beat within me

But I was torn
And I was
Ripped
So now I collect the feathers
Of the baby swan
I stick them back onto my
Fingertips
And I have
Received a new heart
The heart of a doe
She gave up her life
To restore my soul

I have lost
And I have found
Again


Copyright © 2013 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.

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