At night, she bellows
the sound barely audible
unheard ‘til the morn.
“I would like to know
what it will take to make you
fall in love with me?”
In the morn, humming
she sings laments of longing
the tune without words.
“Winged the span of time
Yet your footprint remains etched
right here, above my breast.”
That thing with feathers,
hope, discloses everything;
revealing nothing.
“Within the confines
of my heart, I begin the
task of vanishing.”
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