This is my attempt at the “shovel poem” form, in which you use a line/words from another poem. The last word in each line forms the line of the poem you’ve chosen. “Hope Is the Thing With Feathers”, by Emily Dickinson, follows my poem (also links to form & Emily’s poem).
Fallen from head-spinning height, heart without hope
Lying on sand where tender wavelets touch, whisper: is
Her soul still present, sighing, or shall we beckon the
Angels? How quiet the wind, far-off wings…poor thing
She’s bereft, tears spilled on crushed pale seashells; with
Dregs of fantasy drained dry, and love’s singed feathers
©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers