Racing Herons
A dusted white wing dips above me,
He flies faster in the current’s curve,
He is wild; he is free,
The vanguard V follows faithfully as the winds surge.
In their wake, all chains of resistance seem lost.
They fly proud, and beneath their power, the earthly foot inclines tall.
To nature’s wild beat, all paces are tossed.
Careless, light-stepped glee joins that mighty call.
We are refined in mind yet faulted in instinct;
The breath will break, the foot will stumble.
So too a night’s laughter knows a yawn will sink.
Once such thrills are known, hot blood’s yearning rumbles.
Where creature may forever thrive in vigor,
Man knows his time in Earthly joys is few.
Yet some deep, genetic grain delights in rigor;
The soul cannot help but seek that wing to pursue.
