A feather drops as if with wings of its own

That tire easily as it lifts and falls as it’s blown. 

Camouflaged like a zebra’s hide–black and white,

The lone leaf clung with all of its might.

The roots embedded themselves in rock,

In sand, in water, in places one would mock.

We could continue the futile list 

That will bring a pauper’s eyes to mist–

Like a scarf that’s begun to fray,

You may say one ought to let it drift away.

Like a newborn gasping its first breath,

One must not let it be taken by death.

Take out a spoon, a fork, a knife, to sustain its life–

Protect it from threats and dangers rife.

At first I started like a Gingerbread man,

Filled with more hope and enthusiasm than 

A supercar–well-oiled, with new batteries to run.

But the fun was over before I had begun.

Then, the saltwater began to sting in my wounds

For I was alone–near others, but marooned.