fly

fly poem

Doubt queries her,
hawk eyeing its prey.
Is this good enough?
Unique enough?
Lovely, worth noticing?
Her very life a question,
wingless bird in her hands.
And yet majesty of truth,
strength in being small,
are Poor in Spirit
turned right there
on its head.
Pivot! Breathe!
Open your fists!

And the bird,
its wings solid and
strong, turns its face
to the sun and flies.

This post appeared originally at jenniferjcamp.com

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