WINGS
He heard the rustle of wings,
but that made no sense at all.
It was just a spring morning
made from sunlight
and wafts of wind,
just a day doing
what it’s supposed to do.
It made no sense.
His was a simple existence,
a small, softly-lit life
in this universe of moments
that modestly present themselves.
Why would invisible wings
be whispering everywhere?
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