Acursed Plume

A tither of a feather
lighter than heather
I pranced merrily aways
Thru lights of dawned forested tree tops
snickering in jest at all that hast come what may
A peculiar feather
born of a quagmire of shore spoken displays
I had to tarry a weather on this frost night of garnerings around which Dionysus would play
and play they come hither to tither and fretter and jive around the pole's of may but one was without and that one was in doubt
the feather had chosen its prey