A stone’s a stone
Down to the core,
Down to the bone,
To it no more,
But the wing, oh no,
It lacks a proper that,
As to make it whole
Must take wings at
Wing’s certain role,
Making truth of dreams
It can slide or swim,
But its not its means
Its a wing, not a fin,
It exists, no doubt,
But it mustn’t be bounded,
If so all that is to it about
It’s that is sad wing grounded,
It must bear no string,
It must not be pinned,
And it’ll be a full wing,
Upon sailing the wind
