fly away,

like a flock of birds,

sensing Winter’s first stretch,

like a flowing sheet,

on a wire clothesline,

pushed gently,

by Springtime breezes,

spread my wings,

lengthy and dependable they are,

feathery stalks,

manipulating wind akin to Zephyr,

cause chaotic environs,

as the Sun shines in ambivalence,

while heavy rain stirs,

nature defends against my rise,

seeding the skies…as mine,

own them,

as much as,


attitudes and altitudes,

pure storms be damned!

will proceed,

wings clasped,

To Flight,

fierce sprint upon gravel roads,

knocking towards one another,

rocks crashing,

not designed for takeoff,

no paint,

no problem,

for a flyaway.



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