Wings flutter way up high.
How does it feel, my friend,
to be held by the sky,
to rest in air’s white hand?

Can you see horizons far?
Can you feel the Earth’s pull thin?
Can you hear the song of stars?
Can you touch the face of wind?

But what I wonder most of all,
does it feel special? Makes your heart skip?
Are you ever afraid to fall,
from the sky’s loving hand to slip?

Do you know how much I long
to see what your bright eyes see,
to hear the clouds’ soft song,
as free as you are to be?

All the while, here, below,
among the moss and roots
quiet lives slowly grow.
Wonder if they dream of boots.

Do trees long to stretch their legs,
run across the fields like wind?
Swat away the bird that pecks,
in an embrace hold their kin?

I look at the bird
and I look at the tree,
and where longing first stirred
the world’s song now whispers to me.