Poem Hunter
Death Wades
(25th March 1943 / )

Death Wades

Poem By Kurt Philip Behm

A pure white feather floats silently towards the ground.
As it lands, I pick it up,
and rest it gently in the palm of my hand.

Perhaps it's a delicate fragment from an Angel's wing,
possibly, a token of heavenly love,
or maybe, I see it as my own delight in a gentle white feather.

But as my eyes alight on this fragile plume,
my spirit lifts,
and I have a feeling
that my Guardian Angel is near me,
and is ever watchful.

I believe this perception will always stay with me,
and each time I glimpse a pure white feather
I will offer thanks to my
imperceivable protector.

© Ernestine Northover

User Rating: 5 / 5 ( 0 votes ) 3

Comments (3)

Beautiful and with such deep meaning.God Bless You Ernestine.Love Duncan
I think we all need mystical inspiration.
Ernestine, I think this one is an improvement from the first. I would still like to have you address the feather as though talking to your guardian angel. The important thing is whether YOU like it better and how you think it came across. I don't know who gave you such a low number. Probably someone with no imagination. Good work! Raynette