"Love is not love when it alterations finds...." a quote from my favourite, well only reasonably liked, Shakespeare Sonnet 116, and links so well to my love of feathers.
They are an "ever-fixed mark" in my wardrobe
"looks on tempests and is never shaken" - i.e. somehow mine manage to survive the dreaded il pleut
"it is the star to every wandering bark" - a constant silver lining
"love alters not with his brief hours and weeks" - always return to my beloved feather skirt
"but bears it out even to the edge of doom" - will come with me to the fiery depths of hell
"If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved"
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