As A Feather Descending Poem by Bill Grace

As A Feather Descending



Soft as a feather descending
My former advisor's death is learned
I retreating to a hundred versions of 'Stabat Mater'
While against memory of the news
Majestic strains and voices play
That hint of heaven's being,
Where a nose needs no tending
Meat loaf is never the order of the day.

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