To soar and dive in the blue lit sky,
Everyone has the wish to be a tiny bird of song
A black bird, a hawk a dove or mighty heron
To be free, to glide, flap and soar high
To catch the wind above the see and go by
To twitter and sing the soprano songs
Of a nightingaleor lark, burst out of your lungs
Of the feathers taht warm you in cold, dark nights
Of the nest you weave to keep out the freezing bites
Of the dew that spatters on your wings , feet and head,
Of the sun that shines on your twig bound bed.
One can but look up and join with th espirit light
Of tiny bodies with multitude of feathers bright
Or tumble about like a black rave, rook or crow,
And witness the silent glide of the flight of an owl.
Surely one wishes to be one with the air and the wing
And one wants to be carried by a gust of violent wind
To howl with the leements, to watch teh world from above
To banter a storm, to be a symbol of peace and love.
But for us humans this wish is but a fervent dream
We are too heavy,m too big, like a log or wooden beam
We have no power of muscle, no light feathers storng and hard,
And no delicate balance, nor the streamline of a dart.
Instead we split the air by iron and heavy jet machines
And we foul th eari with streams of ejected kerosene
We add the sound of a constant growling hound
Or the violent breaking of the barrier of sound
And further we go, up into the higher spheres,
Into vacuum, outside the atmosphere
We look to comets and gassy planets without air,
And Voyager has a human memory on its belly to wear.
We explore our solar system, sending rockets into space
We track the tiny starlight like threads in white lace
We've been on the moon and peeked at the Planet of War
We've left footprints and put Sojourn on a Red Moor
The wish to fly has gone, but for to plague our dreams
We soar the sky with planes and shuttles as we 'rightly' deem
But we have forgotten one thing that comes with this wish
We have lost sight of what a true bird really is.
That beauty of flight is not the ability to climb the sky
But the elegance of the flyer's dance as they tumble by
And the twitter of a bird's song heard by your ear
You must respect this, enjoy it, and hold it very dear
When this sight and sound bleed your heart stone dry
And the ache in you spirit hurts as might a thorn in the eye
you know that the flight in your head is as true as can be
The gift of a bird's flight lays upwards:
It is the one that you see.