Hollow sticks, hoisting colorful silken fronds

Awaiting the colorless wind to make its rounds

Grounded in false modesty

Wings cannot reveal their true majesty

They cannot fail when a breeze blends with a gale

Higher a bird must float to remain hale

Seeds must be left behind

For closer to the sun, they fry

Graceful symmetry, the only art the sky cares to hold

Flapping wings or streaks of light, even as the sun goes cold

With a bird’s eye view, the insight soars

While the tiny mind helplessly roars

It isn’t imagination, wings to freedom

Aren’t only the birds’ fiefdom

Why miss the daily flights,

To the emptiness of inner heights?