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TO HONOR SMALL THINGS

Too late to pretend I hadn’t seen

this damaged, helpless, tiny thing

with torn wing it struggles and skitters

turning, turning.

It quiets for a moment then suddenly flails

frantic to be whole as it had been,

soaring

on strong and perfect wing.

I bend to where it lies now

quiet

still.

 

Jean Cassidy  2008

 

 

asheville poetry, asheville writers, poetry

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