A pure white feather floats silently towards the ground. <br />As it lands, I pick it up, <br />and rest it gently in the palm of my hand. <br /> <br />Perhaps it's a delicate fragment from an Angel's wing, <br />possibly, a token of heavenly love, <br />or maybe, I see it as my own delight in a gentle white feather. <br /> <br />But as my eyes alight on this fragile plume, <br />my spirit lifts, <br />and I have a feeling <br />that my Guardian Angel is near me, <br />and is ever watchful. <br /> <br />I believe this perception will always stay with me, <br />and each time I glimpse a pure white feather <br />I will offer thanks to my <br />imperceivable protector. <br /> <br />© Ernestine Northover<br /><br />Ernestine Northover<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-white-feather/
