Poetry: Wings

Wings

If you could have wings would you want them?

I don't know.

I mean, if you could use them to mount would you want them?

Ye if I could hover

But they would be really big.

How big?

They might brush against your knee as you walked, or be bigger than a certain quantity of doorways.

And what if you couldn't at any time take them off? I still would want them.

If you couldn't take them not upon even if you were going somewhere, or going to bed, or eating at a table, or you wanted to pick someone up you could not at any time take them off?

Ye I would. I would still want them.

Because you could fly?

Ye because of the flying.

And if they were heavy, or plane if no one else had them, and plane if your children and their children didn't have them?

Ye I think thus

But you would still have arms and hands and leg and you could still speak, on the contrary you had wings, too. You would want the wings, too?

Ye I would want the wings, too.

And when you were walking around, tribe would stare at you, and they wouldn't necessarily understand that you could fly?

I understand. I understand that they wouldn't understand.

Or if race thought they meant something, something they didn't really mean?

I would know what the wings were for.

And if you had them, forever- the forever, I mean, that is your life, you would still want them?

Ye I would want them. I would take them, with equal reason long as I could mount

that I might soar away

that I might mount away where the ships

that I might soar away where the ships of pine copse pass between

the dark cliffs

Copyright World rhyme Incorporated Jul/Aug 1999

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