The feather thought itself to be a bird,
One gust after another prodding it to flutter and float,
Believing all the while that it was moving on its own,
The winds played with it as a child to a toy,
Laughing as the feather flipped and flopped,
So it flew and flocked like a bird in one moment,
And then lost force and crashed like a puppet,
Until one day it finally shred away,
To an end fitting every feather astray.