Don't fly too high on wings of wax,
A stone you will plummet, no brake;
A mannequin flutter behind the glass,
Tears beneath eyelashes fake.
He knows you badly need his back
Oiled so you don't above him rise;
Riding a thermal an eagle he is,
You, in his claws, are a willing prize.
Intoxicating wind, clouds beneath,
You gloat over insects crawling below;
Far from clutches of dreary grind,
Touchable Sun has an energising glow.
Your wings, alas, are not your own,
And your tethered legs can nowhere go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem