• The wings cruze
    Up the sky.
    Lifting higher
    'Til they fly.

    Feathered petals,
    And a head.
    Each unique,
    Like types of bread.

    Flapping toward the sun,
    They go.
    Always moving,
    Or sometimes no.

    Staying still,
    Right on the ground.
    Standing there,
    It won't be found.

    But normally they
    Don't stay down.
    Going up and,
    Above the town.

    Feel the breeze,
    And say Hurrah!
    For up so high,
    There is no law.