I believe that people deal in shadows and in blankets;
Illegal feathers in their caps.
I believe men search the entire world looking for the perfect ostrich feathers
To put in their multi-cornered hats.
But every once in a while,
A feather bites back.
And then floats away, whimsical in the wind:
Leaves on a breeze.
Until someone plucks her from the air
And thrusts her into another hat