Saturday, 1 June 2013

Wings


Wings

What makes us think that we can fly?
We’re not the masters of the sky
We need machines with engines that roar
Loud noisy things
Birds just have wings

Swallows effortless soar
And the swoop of the swift
The lark ascends as he sings
Their flight is a gift

The tern as he dives to the depths like an arrow
His wings are tight furled
As downwards he's hurled
And do not overlook the humble house sparrow

The kestrel that hovers with negligent ease
The buzzard that floats and majestically glides
Across the air he silently slides
On thermals up lift when he's riding the breeze

Eagles talons outstretched as he stoops to his prey
The harrier that feeds his mate in in mid flight
Just cruising the height
To them flying is play

Yet man in his pride
Us earthly things
With these birds we've vied
And we cannot begin to compare
With their effortless rule of the air

   



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