What if we were meant to fly?

“Fly!” he said. “Don’t let me stop you!
Don’t let anyone stop you!
I’ll strive to keep the curmudgeons
From clipping your wings!

It took a night and morn before I realized
I have felt the icy chill
Of the clipping shears
On my pinion feathers.

And so I wonder: Where to go
To launch, to rise, to soar:
To fly? 

One thought on “Flying

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