edited poem
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@ -24,10 +24,10 @@ rough implement cracking feathers?
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Did I scrap their sick crumpled span
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somewhere lost?
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Maybe I still feel something there.
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Maybe I still feel something.
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I used to dream of flight, soaring free.
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Dips and curls and swoops,
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graceful landings, inviting horizons.
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Dancing dips and flips,
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graceful landings, long horizons.
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But who would love my winged majesty?
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They were more danger than delight.
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