Winged

Window railings,
in maroon.
Evergreen vines
climbing on it,
in directions
seemingly predestined.
The sun sank
below the horizon,
bestrewing the sky
with spectacular colors.
She came flying
with more firmness,
in her right wing,
wounded by a foe.
Perching on the rails,
of the window,
during the darkness,
of the astronomical twilight,
tending to the pain,
and curing it.
On the Equinox of March,
the queen arose
to fly with strength,
and unsurpassed wisdom
in her kingdom.

©songbriti