The Feather in my hand

In a green green meadow, i stand,
holding this feather in my hand.
where its been and where it will go, i know not,
I only know inside, i envy it a lot.
Perhaps its seen the deserts of the sahara,
the polar bears and seals of Alaska.
It must have seen an eagle in flight,
basked in an Indian twilight,
heard the sounds of the African drum,
probably arose from an Australian farm.
I wish i could coax it to speak,
But it remains silent,quiet and meek.
And i unfortunately can only dream,
of the beautiful places, this feather has been.