Sunday, 6 July 2014

The Lark Ascending

Why can I not be the lark ascending?
Wings that glide on strings a-singing.
Swoop and soar devoid of care;
Nimble dart, slice through air.

Lose me as a feather in space;
Gone forever - to that other place.
Becomes a shadow painted in kind,
Remnants only in passing mind.

Why can I not be the lark ascending?
Wings glide free leaving strings a-singing.

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