First Flight
Assuming hand from above
guiding fretful pinioned glove
past waltzing pines and drunken oaks,
cheerful friends yet frightened folk.
Swelling fear puffs spotted breast,
no watchful eye, no woven nest.
Sharply shoved by hurried gust
and mistral maidens in a huff,
who twirl up toward yellow glare
to greet abashed doldrum air.
Green eye below, delusions home,
blue eye above, illusions roam
which flit and fly it seems with ease
Yet Freedom answers to the breeze.
Copyright © William Mcclelland | Year Posted 2016
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