I lost my smile and moved along
these feathers cannot tickle me
they only make me sad
knowing once they soared above
in search of one true love
these feathers I did come across
beyond the beaten path
black and white and gray like a ghost
commingling with rotting leaves
to pick them up and take them home
or let them fade where they will
I lost my smile and moved along
knowing later I’d retrace my steps
april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
commingling … what a lovely word..
yes, like something you do at a gathering….
one cannot help it…we go back and pick at the scabs. very good poem.
thank you very much