All she could find at her attempt to the heavens.
Four feathers, black in colour
Four inches and tied together.
Not tidy by any means
And not comparable to wings
But this little girl, tired of the world
Stood on the edge of her dark forever
Looked to the sky with no trace of a tear in her eyes
And nobody to wave her goodbye.
She stood, ready to fly.
Ready to die.
Her attempt to the sky with four feathers.