Upon Wings
Where soft the wind blows through wings
And the air is sharp in lungs and throat...
There will you find me in flight, soaring,
Over my small troubles far below.
When I've danced with the clouds, laughing,
Sung with the stars sparkling overhead,
Heard the murmurs from the mountaintops,
Brushed my tail on the tall redwood trees...
And played with my brethren , winging,
I come home, tired and smiling, chuckling,
Take up my frailness and many faults...
Refreshed for a new day's battles.
Whether on wings or upon mortal feet,
There is a song of rejoicing within.
To know I've danced with the moon,
And sung with the wind, laughing.
What wonder is this, what dream,
That allows me to immerse myself
Within you all and come out clear...
Brilliant as the blackness of space?
And as full of wonder in this ancient age,
As ever I was when I was but a child...
Standing upon tiptoe, reaching for stars,
And dreaming of wings with which to soar.
©1995 Quelonzia/Terry Schorer
