Soaring high in the sky,
Flying fast, flying fearlessly,
Your iridescent feathers,
Gliding gracefully.
Ride the winds, my son,
A free bird with
eyes of eternal light,
Circling; circling over me.
Caw across the valley
Whistle into my dream,
Nestle your nest of the firmament
and pray watch over me.
Ronald Whetsell's Creative Writing and Poetry Blog 