As winged wonders
of nature defy gravity
to know the ecstasy
of being.
I, the hatchling, have
observed.
A fearless winged one.
Tired,
she seeks no rest.
Only flight.
The wings of heart
sustain her.
Through wondrous
freefall, and
arduous task
of all the hatchlings
back at the nest.
Without the knowledge
of why.
Only the ancient memory
forever young.
With the spirit of the wind
and the wings of heart
the winged one flies.
Why would the ancient memory
forever young
give her heart’s wings
if not to use them?
Poem by Ray Songs