My Talking Feather

Since being called as Poet Laureate just over a year ago

My talking feather has been with me everywhere I go,

The story behind it is quite simple as you will see,

When one has the feather in their hand, others are quiet as can be.

A native custom so that there is no chaos ever found,

One person talking at a time, such a peaceful, happy sound.

Every time poets gather, the feather goes from hand to hand,

The others listen almost reverently and all truly understand

The wisdom of the talking feather and the rules obey

And somehow my talking feather is enhanced in a special way.

Each poet that has held it has left part of themselves behind

Encased in that talking feather and words that are hard to find.

How you feel when you hold it for it seems you to inspire

Then sweet poetry busts forth like a warm blazing fire.

Sometimes I take it out of the box where it lies at rest,

Just hold it for a moment, that when it feels at it's best,

I close my eyes and try and see each hand that held for awhile

And then, across my aging face creeps a warm, contended smile.

For there are those who held it in my active mind's eye,

Then tears flow down my cheek as I in sweet joy I cry.

Thank you talking feather may you ever be close by me,

So I will remember all my poetry friends for now and through eternity.

By Ann Margetson, Cobalt, ON