The wind takes wings
as we fly into it,
never moving forward,
not ideal; seems fit.
No destination
with our young age.
Although, only height,
there's more freedom than a cage.
This wind will die,
And we'll no longer soar
with fun&play.
we'll live for less; for more.
This wind will take wings
as we fly with it,
only moving forward,
it's ideal; seems fit.
© 2010 The Still Air
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