There was once a creature
who lived on an island brushed by warm winds
and rimmed with seashells.
She had no need for fear;
not of claw, nor of chase,
not of dark shapes slipping through leaves.
She did not run.
Why would she?
Nothing in her world ever told her to.
So she walked,
plump and slow,
through the dappled green,
her footsteps soft and unhurried
Her wings, though stubby, fluttered when ...
