Innocent child, with thoughts at play
Hand me downs, the look of a clown
Ginger hair, flowing long, to the winds wave
A boy dreams, with the idea, he could fly

Cutout box, to shape, a pair of wings
Feathers plucked, by mothers hand
Roasting chickens on a fire
Glue on tips of quills, to set in layers

A length of twine, looped and tied
A gaze to the sky, eyes do spy
A flock of birds, somersaulting high
A blue that carries on, beyond and on

A step and two, overlapping four
The speed picks up as the wind screams for more
Arms spread wide, across the meadows hide
Dust in the wind, floats up to ride

With every stride, feathers fly
A trail of white, gently floats to ground
If only wings could fly
I would be soaring, through the sky

The sun would be behind
Glowing the white of my feathers might
From below and up, a shadow of a silhouette
Those who see, see a disappointment

If only wings could fly
I would strap them on right now
Run and run until feet leave off
To never return, seen or heard of