The Tiger Feather at Your Service

Twas amidst the waistland's edge
The story ended for dear old peg
her feathers lay scattered and still
A tale barren as the ill-snipped quill.
Walking by I shuddered to think
How it all went down
Nothing left but her mink.
I couldn't help but pick her up
Still on her hand a God given cup.
Her fingertips no longer passed down.
That I didn't have to wonder, I knew
With ever last breath she drew.