My feather duster shed a plume,
From
overuse, you might assume,
But
you’d be wrong; my living room
Is
good at hiding dust.
Yet
that stray feather made me muse
On
how the furnishings we choose
Provide
our visitors with clues
About
us they can trust.
Our
décor, modern or antique
And
ostentatious, plain or sleek,
Allows
much more than just a peek
At
what’s below the crust.
Though
birds may decorate their nest
With
shiny objects they’ve finessed,
Like
us, they hope they have impressed
By
how they’ve fluffed and fussed.
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