by Tristram Tuna, September 1998
The fledgling is restless, he longs to take wing,
To master the air, to have songs to sing.
Yearning for freedom, his breast feels the need.
The winds urge him on, but could he succeed?
Imagining failure - lost and alone,
More pain than he could bear on his own.
Head so full of doubts, perhaps he should wait.
Or should've gone sooner, perhaps it's too late.
Perhaps he's too weak - his wings are so new.
His heart, fit to burst, knows what he must do.
He'll need all his faith, to fly from the nest,
Trusting himself and the air for this test.
To fail is disaster, a shattering fall
That will crush his dreams, not once but for all.
But to pass, to succeed, to fly and to soar,
To walk with the gods, no less and no more,
As swift as the wind, as free as the breeze,
His wings on the clouds, his feet on the trees.
There's no real choice, it has to be tried
And many have flown, though many have died.
When urging beats fear, that's when he'll go
Perhaps not today, but soon. Then he'll know.
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