When I woke this morning I found a feather resting gently on my thigh.
It was white and a little curled; it seemed content to stay.
I wondered what it wanted there, and why;
Why it chose such a parking spot, so obviously astray.

I touched it tenderly and saw it quiver slightly.
I sensed it was about to float away, seeking a more open space,
One where it could wander freely and where the sun shone brightly.
Then it actually managed to take to the air, and landed on my face.

The trouble with such flutterers is that they seem to lack control;
Or perhaps they cannot finally decide where they want to go,
It is rather like my own habit when I go out for my morning stroll.
I seem to wander aimlessly instead of going with the flow.

Perhaps finding the best way to truly relax is at the heart of my dilemna;
As a fairly average human being I need to make the right choice,
A feeling that sadly is not available to the average feather.
Nor can it remotely match the varied sounds of my voice.