Some believe, ' to live is to fly.'
But humans who like to think that
Must realize that land, not sky,
Is their natural habitat.
When humans fly, they must do so
By artificial mean and way.
When up in air the humans go,
Quite often cruel fate comes to play.
The artificially made 'wings'
Fail to keep some humans aloft,
Resulting in painful crashings,
And the landing is never soft.
'To live is to fly, ' oft instead
Fate turns to fly is to be dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem