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A professional dilettante, pinfeather has held a wide assortment of jobs at one time or another. These included careers as diverse as piloting oil tankers (the Exxon Valdez), civil engineering (the Tacoma Narrows Bridge), luxury liner design (the Titanic) and product marketing (the Edsel).

Lately, she has taken up the practice of writing poetry, the results of which efforts are presented here.

Poetry from the Featherbed

pinfeather's sole ambition in life is to be known as a bad influence. To that end, we present this rather unsubtly subversive book, which no one in her or his right mind would ever read. Most especially not out loud!

Fortunately, that leaves out a lot of people. So, go ahead. Read it. You know you want to.

She Is Not

My love is not a red, red rose
She's stronger, and more fair.
She doesn't wilt in shadow; if
It rains she doesn't care.

A thorny temper she may have
Of that, I cannot lie
But neither will I blame her, for
She well knows, so have I!

My love has lissome stems, although
I'm glad they are not green,
And she has perfumed petals that
Possess a lovely sheen.

Unlike the rose, however, that's
A pleasure just for me
And me alone to treasure, and
To touch and taste and see.

Oh, in her merest shadow would
The sweetest blossom pale
For time will take its beauty, but
My love's will never fail.

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