Quid Pro Quo



What good are wings,
if never spread, to feel the stretch that curves the back to arch and leap
What good are wings,
if never kissed by sun and moon, where their glow, in Angels reap
What good are wings,
if never to soar across the skies, looking down on earth from heavens grace
What good are wings,
if you can’t feel the wind, brush your face, an invisible embrace
What good are wings,
if clouds are never reached, to dip and dive leaving a trail in tow
What good are wings,
if you never fly, to rise as high as the tallest peaks of ice and snow
What good are wings,
if you never breathe to live and share with a life to sow
What good are wings,
if never taken as a gift from God, quid pro quo

Ax

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