The Rudiments of Wings
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It's impossible to fly,
yet, you've never stopped trying.
Of late, a tear in your eye
tells me you have been crying.
Time's stolen your youth; that's true,
but there's naught that I can do
that will ease that loss for you.
You once flew above the clouds,
were comfortable in crowds;
and never knew of death shrouds.
Now, though you gaze at the sky
and forgo dreams of flying;
the rudiments of wings woo
a spirit, that hope enshrouds.
(Fragmented Rhyme)
02/16/2022
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2022
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