[Soaring Feather]

Thanks, I feel it is not a strong poem, for me it does not have the power I want to convey. Of course, it has been a while since I visited the Glen in writing sooo maybe this is a warm up. ;0)

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning everyone.


Song


Tho' veiled in spires of myrtle-wreath,
Love is a sword that cuts its sheath,
And thro' the clefts, itself has made,
We spy the flashes of the Blade !
But thro' the clefts, itself has made,
We likewise see Love's flashing blade,
By rust consumed or snapt in twain:
And only Hilt and Stump remain.


By: Samuel Taylor Coleridge