Flying High Poem by David Taylor

The robin sat upon the gate
with sideways head much int'rested
as in the fallow fields below
the cows are grazing unmoving slow.
The sheep played and did not sleep
together they roamed to reap
the goodness from the grass
that greenly grows beneath their feet.
Clouds obscured a bright lit sky
as thoughts upon an open mind
slowly passed on by,
slowly passed on by.
Across the valley deep
the hills rose in a gentle sweep
reaching gently for the sky
they did not reach up high.

Nature does not try, nature does not try
with ease it follows its own unfolding
as sages o'er the country roaming.
They do not try, they do not try.
The robin approached a little closer
he did not fly, he did not fly.
The cows they paused in grazing
and sheep they didn't ask
why eat grass, why eat grass?
Clouds they opened in the sky
and passed on by, passed on by.
And as like the hills across the valley
my soul reached out
and flew up high, flew up high.