bound to the ground
even with the occasional lift off
we were born with arms
not wings
but even the fine feather
are bound
to this air-o-sphere;
unless, perhaps
this is truly a heaven
and the rest of life in the universe
wish to escape
to here.
bound to the ground
even with the occasional lift off
we were born with arms
not wings
but even the fine feather
are bound
to this air-o-sphere;
unless, perhaps
this is truly a heaven
and the rest of life in the universe
wish to escape
to here.
Shades of My Garden 