Flying

Oh, to have the wings of eagles
Climbing wind drifts to the sun,
Riding free on rising currents
Wrapped in pinwheel circling.
Looking down on my dominion,
Watching where the rivers run.
Every move of every creature
Open to my scrutiny.
Dare to keep me on the ground when
Clouds can be my fertile soil.
Beg the sun to preen my feathers
With its purifying light.
Weep not if I drift forever,
Lost to sweet oblivion.
Comfort that I’m lost in freedom
Where no harm can touch my soul.

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Amazon Author's Page: http://www.amazon.com/Dennis-S-Martin/e/B004SXY4LG/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1394055582&sr=1-2-ent