Foolishness clings
Like fleas upon my wings,
Golden feathers warmed by the sun,
And it bites with compassionless fang
Beneath downy breast, a pang
Upon my back, does it cling
Burying sharpened beak into rustled feathers.
Plucking some but grasping at others,
Mistakes a hot bed of straw I lie upon.
Dirt flies as affected by desperation,
Wild flapping of pained agitation,
Biting nuisances with vicious minds.
Foolishness clings
Like fleas upon my wings,
Fools gold glittering duly in the sun.