It does no harm
to flap my arms
and make a charm-
ing chirping
sort of sound.
The lift and thrust
of lust for life
is just enough
to get me
off the ground.
For, in my dreams,
I am, it seems,
a singing, swing-
ing, wing-ed
thing in flight.
And, with my eyes
on the hori
zon, follow swall
ows flying
out of sight.
And anytime that I may choose
to feel the earth beneath my shoes
then I just open up my eyes
and I’m no longer in the skies.
And anytime that I desire
to soar some more or fly up higher,
I merely close my eyes and then,
a wing-ed thing, I rise again.
I glide and slide
and play around.
I loop and swoop
far off the ground
or, with bird claws
instead of feet,
I perch upon
a branch and tweet.
There really is
no life as sweet
as that of a dreamingbird.
Comments
skinner_jennifer | January 6, 2011 - 11:10
Hi well-wisher,
what a beautiful thing to beable to fly, to just
close your eyes and travel wherever you choose, you
tell it so well in this poem.
Thankyou for a simply beautiful poem.
Jenny.
well-wisher | January 6, 2011 - 15:45
Thankyou, Jenny. As I was writing it, I was thinking of the book 'Jonathan Livingston Seagull' which is all about flying.
Highhat | January 6, 2011 - 19:11
That really is a bird's perspective with Jonathan Livingstone Seagull and your dreamingbird in one. Enchanting.
;)Pia
well-wisher | January 7, 2011 - 09:49
Thanks, Pia. I'm glad you enjoyed it.