A little white feather on a boring swan lay,

wanted to go on an adventure that day,

so he unbuckled himself from the coat so white,

and sailed off without any fright.

Over the meadows and trees he floated,

over the cows that sat there bloated.

Over the maids hanging clothes on the line,

singing and whistling to mornings shine.

Over the farmers guiding their herds,

over the chorus of early birds.

The feather then wondered if he'd ever get back,

where his other mates lay on his feathered friend Jack.

He's still not returned and to this day,

he's sailing on getting further away.

Elizabeth MacDonald