The Busy Flyer

Fly.

I think.

And stare down.

All other birds fly,

Why couldn't I as well?

I stretch out my wings wide,

Ignore the tense fear in my stomach,

Close my eyes against the hot, beating sun,

And I swiftly jump off the branch and glide.

The wind blows past me and I hear the whistle,

The cold breeze of the wind in my ears as I,

Become one with the sky. I open my eyes briefly and swallow,

Nearly losing my lunch at the height of which my wide, wandering wings,

Have taken me, in the wonderful world of blue. I close my eyes again,

And try to follow the flow of birds on their trip to the south again,

I'm all grown up, away from the nest, and I'm on the great flight of freedom!

The End

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