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Whispers from a White Feather
Hello my readers, I am Snow that Flutters down like Feathers. I am a poet on Gaia Online and Tumblr. I have been writing since 2013. My Tumblr: http://flutterysnowfeathers.tumblr.com My Ko-fi: http://ko-fi.com/snowfeatherswrites
The Wise Owl and The Agile Cat
I am the one that watches and waits ever patiently before advising toward a decision.
Wise, but not all-knowing,
I try my best to make sure that any situations we encounter are properly assessed.
But, I am not the voice of reason.
On the same score as the previous,
I am not only patient in an attempt to avoid trouble.
If provoked enough, I strike the enemy with extreme prejudice and without a moment's hesitation.

I, on the other hand, am quite young and inexperienced.
Still naive, I like to think that there is good in almost everyone (there are definitely exceptions).
I am intelligent enough to know "right from wrong,"
but there is still so much that I don't know.
I am the voice of reason.
I know that deep down, some further down than others,
none of us really want to cause mass destruction.
I really just want to avoid trouble while preventing others around me from causing it.

Dearest leader,
you are amazing in every way possible.
In a dark sense, there is a beauty in your logic.
The way you "dispose" of your enemies.
You as the waiter.
The watcher.
All into one.
Everything will be fine and well done.
Whether it is the day or night,
you have a unique way in putting people into fright.
A tactician in waiting.
You, sir, are not the one to be fading.
The venomous snake that strikes accurately at night.

Dearest young one,
you are beautiful and strong in your way.
You are smart.
You are the one who meets with him at the start.
Holding out your hand.
Grasping them by the shoulders.
Telling them, "It is not worth it. They are not worth it."
You may be the youngest,
but you are the one to make the puzzles fit.
Bold and mind yet to unfold.
A tactician in hiding.
You, girl, are not the one to be dying.
The wise cat that knits.
-Collaboration by: Memory that Haunts like Ghosts and Snow that Flutters down like Feathers





 
 
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