I lost a little feather in a gust—
A downy thing of white and brilliant red,
Swept out from where it nestled, in a spot
I’d fancied sheltered from the breeze’s thrust.
In a sudden updraft, off it sped,
And in a second’s passing, it was not,
Even as it had been many weeks,
The diadem in my trove of avian jewels,
The poppet of the plain-and-spangled lot!
Now suddenly, the rest seemed dull and bleak
And I, as fragile as a summer fool
To grieve this little grace that came unsought.
How curious, the whimsy of this world,
To whisk off gifts as blithely as they come—
But just as glibly it has snatched at things
Of gravity, too weighty to have swirled
Aloft, too big to hold down with a thumb!