The Feather

Mixed among the sand

as happened one looked down

trapped among the pebbles

a tattered feather found

Battered, beaten, useless now

feather far from new

One wondered what the source of it

and how the feather grew

When once it small and useless sort

but growing by and by

This beaten tattered feather

which once was used to fly

Now lying still on carpet sand

and fallen from the air

Removed and disregarded

and quite beyond repair

What now could be the use of it

A duster, pen or quill?

Perhaps for decoration

What 'ere the founder will

From use to use and dust to dust

the tattered feather falls

Until it be forgotten

not valuable at all

But useful once this tattered sort

which by Creator made

Returned to hand of founder

inspired words outlaid

No matter how a feather falls

or spends its time on earth

the founder finds new use for it

until it be rebirthed