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Donna's Poems
by Donna Flood

I watched a child play with a feather.
She allowed it to be lifted by an updraft

It was carried easily up, as in fair weather.
The girl smiled as she played at her craft.

How many times I have wished I could focus
As well as this child, so perfectly did.

The world would be left with nothing bogus,
Crime, misery, poverty, death, fear, illness, of all rid.

For I surely could concentrate on a freedom,
Willing with pleasured pointed mind to come.

Earth in her wondering for an end to a shivering,
Rising feather morning, easily, softly, quivering.

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