Just Molting

Squawk
“My feathers are fall-n out.”
Must be time to head south.

Quack
All the ducks have left the lake.
Rather cold out, too, today.

 

Feather Fluffs
Funny how similar feelings make feathers fly.
Try to collect them.
Rather than see them float in the sky.
Like feeling when gathered up, help, make
a feather quilt to keep me warm in bed.
Or how about if I make a feather duster instead.
Then I could knock down all the cobwebs,
this house collects.

Lying Fluffs
Lying fluffs, ones lay around make for dirty stuffing.
Lets just put those in the trash they’re worth nothing.

Poem:
Feathers fly high.
Feathers fly low.
Why not chase some
see where leads to?
They may take you
way up high.
So far, right to the sky.
They may take you
way down low.
You’ll be able to go
past your toes.
Whew, I’m glad don’t
need any of those.
Straight to the trash
those feathers go.
Well, that’s all.
poem’s shouldn’t
rattle on forever
and a day.

The feather don’s
finished their speech,
quick, I’d say.

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2 thoughts on “Just Molting

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