Pockets Full of Posies

Of morning dew and gossamer,
they glitter in the Icarus sun.
Colors bleed from them like summer,
they’re paper-thin, angel-spun.

Fluttershy watches
as her friend performs,
her eyes on those color-splotches,
and her smile transforms.

Because from the vision of those wings,
something buried long ago,
a feeling birthed from forgotten things,
an ache she’s come to know.

Why does Fluttershy feel this way?
Who’s to say?