Blooming stain
I spread my wings one rainy dayand flew out across the lands.
The ocean crashed against the sands -
the whitest kind, they say.
I saw a boy out on a shoal,
skipping out of waters reach.
His dog was sitting on the beach
a steadfast, faithful soul.
I beat my wings once every mile
and rejoiced in feeling free.
The ground, a gleeful farming spree,
a green-brown patterned tile.
As king of kings I roamed the sky
and above the lakes I raced;
uneven azure gems embraced
by golden fields of rye.
A shot was fired from the grain -
spurting hearts blood; searing pain.
My ending deemed by man humane;
for a feather I was slain.
Poetry by An-ders
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Written on 2009-01-26 at 10:46
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