Flying high in the sky, soaring
very high. High as an eagle
Yet only in my mind's eye.
Not giving up, yet continuing,
Gliding, through the gusty wind.
Until wings and the wind somehow blends together, as an acoustic, melodic strum, and births a song.
A gentle, distinct sound.
Is this the purpose?
A reason to the why,
Pressing through the storm, head lifted high
Eyes finally to see the sun piercing
behind the clouds. The eagle soars.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem