The feather that flies away in a wreckage of flurry
The silent traveler that seeks your skin
Always hunting, never atop a win
You are the ink that bleeds from my pen
While your hands hold another place of zen
Church bells echo as an angel sings
A chorus of delight to polish your wings
Another moonlit flight without me
Mistaken, you mustn't be the beholder of the sea
#redcoatepoetry
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