Sometimes I'm waiting for the right wind, tomorrow it'll be the right cliff to dive, or I'll say it's too cold to fly outside.
My handy book of lovely excuses, in all permutation combinations.
I could tell you I hate the skies, for they're too blue and wide and endless..compared to the cozy warmth of a muddy swamp that eagerly swallows.
But I want to swim, with sticky wings, and how could that be.?
Ugh, let me look up at the sky again..big beautiful heartbreaking impassive. Robed in blue splendor; Accepting, pleading.
So now I decide, tomorrow it'll be..when I clean out my wings, and go for a dive..or should I just flutter?
