Wings

A handful of feathers was all that was left

I picked them up and stacked them neatly

His deadly words would pluck them out

Some by the handful some one at a time

I once had pretty wings to carry me around

No longer in beauty can they be found

A handful of feathers was all that was left

So I picked them up and handed them over

To the healer of my wounded wings

He spoke to me gently and promised to fix

Each and every feather that fell to the ground

Promised to take them and start fresh and anew

A new pair of wings of a different hue

A pair of wings not for beauty to be worn

But rather of strength for the use of flying alone

Beautiful wings are to be seen not used

Your wings my child are to be used not seen

For your journey is long

And your journey is hard

Not intended to be showcased in beauty alone