Sunday, 4 August 2013


I look up at the sky above & I can only stare,
I see all my fine feathered friends out there,
Flipping-flapping-flitting, up in the sky flying,
Swooping & dipping low & then soar highing,
Feathered freedom, pretty fresh wind junkies,
Unless caged & ringed, mere sad man´s flunkeys,
Filigreed plumes & bejeweled velvet feathered,      
Miles under wings, seasoned, salted, weathered,            
When I see you soaring, I can only see you free,                    
 I pray, “Please my friends, come flying back for me”.

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