Glimmering dully, on the shelf.
A forgotten relic.
Once parading in cobble squares now softly thought about from time to time.
Longing for its dead owner.
Serving in a world war seeing many horrors and beauties.
From the world above falling like an angel, falling slowly and drifting on breezes and wind, a feather.
Two wings and a dagger in between.
And the never forgotten phrase: who dares wins.
Cool and soothing a slight tingle goes through me when I touch it.
It has a certain addictive feeling to it.
Being put back on the shelf slowly loses shine and in a way, wears away.
With a soft but calm sound it returns to confinement and awaits the next time someone remembers it was there.
Still longing for its lost owner.