Imagine me, descending clouds of grey,
The roaring of the wind has ceased at last
Resembling dawn, ascending summer's day,
It harshly pulls me back to my ship's mast
I yearn for more, to break the fragile skies,
Exhilaration satisfies my heart
“Too high! Too high!” the feathered blackbird cries,
I cannot hear, as through the leaves I dart
The tender wood beneath me sobs and sighs,
Then margins shatter and at last I'm free
As higher through the heavens I arise,
But down I plummet, near the willow tree
I sweep the ground, and leave the wooden seat,
Imagining the next time that we meet.