Poem -

wings

birds sit and sing in the clouds in the sky
sitting and singing and maybe losing there way
lost inside those clouds that sit high above the streets
flying through the breeze and through the wind on there own

i see them and hear them every day singing there little songs
one, two , or even a thousand birds wings all beating
all existing and never ever needing a umbrella
even when the rain comes and the thunder yes they still try and they still fly

wings that i bet get tired and wings that i feel do dazzle
pretty wings that exist on flying creature and those that can't fly
some of them are broken and some of them are hiding
some need prayers and a candle flame so they reappear

sitting in the autumn and sitting in the winter do my wings exist
sitting in the spring and sitting in the summer are my wings the same
it seems that there are some girls whose wings are magical
and some girls who want magical wings and are left with damaged ones

 

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